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 |
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