Here's another easy demonstration of emptiness. The boss bursts into your office and yells at you for blowing a customer's order.

In reality his face is only some reddish color, and his voice a certain number of decibels. But the seeds in your mind go off and impose upon this the finished image of an unpleasant person.

Someone else in the room may feel that he's being quite reasonable. That person's seeds are laying a different picture on him. Neither image is necessarily correct. It's not that unpleasantness or pleasantness is flowing from the boss. And that's his emptiness.

Ancient meditators were able to establish that the impression of time passing only occurs because of sixty-five separate images that go off in our mind every fingersnap; interestingly, about the number of frames per second in a film.

Time itself is just like the boss. How fast we see it pass—at the dentist or with a good friend—depends only upon our seeds. Those who see these subtle details can define their own time, by gardening.

Because emptiness is the foundation underlying all events, we are all capable of seeing everything that happens, in this one moment.