Unnumbered

Yes, even as the first letters emerge, this missive is redundant. A reduction. Language, a fraction. Unnecessary.

Yet, these tools, inadequate, are what I have. For there is a voice, and it wishes to speak. Not so as to be heard, rather to feel what is being said. To be the channel. Bear witness.

Here, in your infinite emptiness, I am filled. In your placeless expanse I find a home. In your formless presence I take shape. In the annihilating beauty of your absence, you are as near as breath.

This, my feeble offering, surrendered thus. Now, as I exhale these syllables…ecstasy. The nothing that is everything. The exquisite oblivion of sensing. Minus the vanity of naming.