As for the real … it is original wakefulness
that is empty in essence, cognizant
by nature, and all-pervasive in its capacity.
—TULKU URGYEN RINPOCHE
Nothing is … but nothing knows—
Wrinkles smile and wriggles toes.
Eyes that open and that close,
Nothing is, but nothing knows.
Nothing was and nothing will.
Pond reflects when wind is still
And sun is golden on the hill.
Nothing was and nothing will.
Nothing’s born and nothing dies.
Nothing’s bright and nothing’s wise.
Nothing flowers like a rose.
Nothing is, but nothing knows.
Nothing loves and nothing sings,
Nothing’s true of everything—
Plays the game of “just suppose.”
Nothing is, but nothing knows.