As Emptiness constantly bubbles up into Form, emerging, emerging, emerging, all Compounded Things constantly return to Emptiness, leaving without a trace, relinquishing their individuality, all of it effaced. Everything a verb, a process in motion.
There is no place to seek the mind:
it is like footprints of the birds in the sky from a Zen poem by Zenrin Kushu
|Amy Dunlap http://travel.nationalgeographic.com|