Nothing

Let go. Let everything slide, dissolve into dust. Less than dust. True nothing. And within nothing exists, not everything, but nothing. Within nothing exists the world. As you sit in the evening sun. In the warm wind that blows across you and over you and through you exists nothing and just as the wind is nothing you, too, are nothing. True knowledge exists not in "knowing that you know nothing" but in knowing nothing. True knowledge is in being nothing. Just as the bird "scuffling in the bushes" thinks nothing, so too must we become one with nothing. For nothing is more than just merely an absence of matter, nothing is more than an opposite to matter, nothing exists outside of matter. Nothing comes where thought ends. Nothing is where the universe ends and before it began. Nothing exists before birth and after nothing exists after death. At least it should. We fill our lives with distractions in an attempt to run from the nothing we feel inside, but the soul is nothing. We must exist as nothing if we are to exist at all. The nothing we feel inside can not be filled for this nothing is the universe. This nothing is the non-thoughts of the trees. This nothing is the non-thoughts of the beasts. Within this nothing exists, not everything, but nothing. Everything is mankind. The cars. The cities. The settees. The cluttered, constant monologue of mankind is mankind. In running from savagery we turn our backs on nothing, yet it is nothing that is in the essence of us all. Nothing is beautiful. Nothing is complete. Because nothing is beautiful, and because mankind is forever searching to fill its inner nothing, mankind is essentially self-mutilating. Mankind seeks to dominate the wilderness and map the universe in order to deny its inner nothing. But it is through the wilderness and the emptiness of the universe that nothing can truly be known. Nothing can be known because it can be felt, but nothing is not something that can be understood. Nothing is not logic or mathematics, nothing is the essence of art. But art is not nothing. Art can be an expression of nothing. Art is an echo of feeling a sense of nothing. But only a sense of nothing. Nothing can only be expressed as a sense, a silhouette, because nothing is lost within civilisation. Nothing, perhaps, can not be regained within civilisation because civilisation is about the denial of nothing. Civilisation, almost by definition, is about filling nothing. Nothing has become linked to laziness -- doing nothing is a sin. But nothing is not apathy, nor is it laziness. Apathy is linked to motivation, to feelings of 'should'. Nothing is not reached through apathy, for while the consciousness is cluttered -- and it is rarely as cluttered as when in a state of apathy -- nothing can not be considered. Nothing, and thinking about nothing, requires stillness, but an inner stillness. Nothing can be found in a crowd as easily as it can be in solitude, providing you are still inside. To think nothing and to do nothing requires more than to cease doing, it requires one to totally stop thinking. To actively stop thinking one must know what nothing feels like. To think nothing one must recognise nothing within themselves, and learn how closely linked to nothing they are. And know that nothing is not bad. Nothing can not be 'bad' just as the universe can not be bad. Nothing does not operate nor exist within senses or thought and can not be categorised as such.