Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky
We fell them down and turn them into paper
That we may record our emptiness


Kahil Gibran



The Heart Sutra appears everywhere, in the bird-like bones my body is built around, in the spine both supple and softly disintegrating, in the muscled heart that flip-flops like a fish on dry land, before release back into its water element; marrow, sinew, ligament, nerve that fires off seemingly with indiscretion, skin encasing what is essentially, irrevocably moving toward non-being.

The Heart Sutra is the map of all that lives and dies within the unborn and the undying.
With the earth beneath our feet, we learn to tread lightly.
A wish for all beings, sentient and otherwise.