No thought can capture that beauty.
It is too small and too great. It is
alone, spaceless, permeating all, con-
tained by nothing.
It has no walls or borders--being free,
being freedom, being beauty without a
trace.
It is not there nor here: It is what
gives them presence. It shows still
mind the loveliness of life, of d**h,
of rain and storm and reckless wind.
It is alone without a yesterday or future
looking on. No hope nor fear shall dwell
within it.
It is not greater than life. It is life
unnamed: a child who knows no words, who
stands alone amidst creation. The eyes can
see it when the mind is empty. The hand can
feel it when it knows not what it touches.
When the last picture and the final word
fades from the cluttered, noisome mind,
then shall aloneness dwell--the beauty of
a mind without incumbrances, the song of
love which knows no sound.