"die rose ist ohne warum. sie blühet, weil sie blühet. sie achtet nicht ihrer selbst, fragt nicht, ob man sie siehet.
the rose is without why. it blooms because it blooms. It pays no attention to itself. asks not whether it is seen."
- angelus silesius-
rugged coasts of western algarve where i am settling in at the moment.
in the moment and out of the moment the falling and rising tides of life draw us into and draw us out of this bottomless ocean some call emptiness.
to no rhyme or reason draw us in and draw us out. we are not what emerges out of the moment, the moment's emergence is us. the no-thing that is us. the nothing that makes us stagger and lose all foothold as we come face to face with the mystery of being: what comes to us comes as the ungraspable.
us is what there is; you, me, weathered rocks, relentless tides and sweeping winds leaping over continents and oceans.
settling here for the moment living the life that cannot be settled in the nowhere that cannot be dwelled: annica, impermanence. the groundless of life, life as groundlessness.
us coming and going in the moment that cannot be settled in the nowhere that cannot be dwelled is emptiness arraying us in the disarray of what comes and goes without a why.
living and dying the life of without a why.
without a why just we live, without a why just we die. freedom of that which is just such: thathata. ineffable as it blooms out of the empty, ineffable blooming of emptiness: shunyata.
asks not whether it is seen: that silent unfolding of the play.
" lifetime is a child at play; moving pieces in a game. kingship belongs to the child."
heraclitus, fragment 52
fortaleza, sagres, algarve, portugal
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