When I move, the city walls move too;
When I nap, I'm sure, the walls stand firm.
But when I die, the walls will all
come tumbling down.
From a Buddhist poem found in Dunhuang, attributed
to Fang Wanzhi, translated by J. P. Seaton.
The dim hours of the day have
gone, washed away in sleep,
and I have awakened into
darkness from darkness,
and only the faint sounds of
rain and wind tell the greater
world has endured my hours of
non-being, the primordial
waters of chaos kept at bay,
this shroud of matter cast
upon the great elemental
mystery surviving. Else
the cosmos of gyrating wheels
of stars and dust might be gone,
but these aged rooms in shadow
and candlelight, the flickering
light of the computer screen.
The mind, in its cage, thinks
the world will not go on without
its presence; but the phase
transition of death will
leave the suns face their
billions of years none
the lesser, and the maws
of the black holes will still
call for the last human.
04.09.2023
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