This thought, "emptiness," clutters the universe. "I believe" drives God from the heart. The word, "Heaven," turns earth into the other place. But when the peony bud breaks open in morning sunlight, this mind is so astonished it ceases to exist. Dewy names that webbed things at night melt away in the golden chaos of silence. Even the name "thing" means nothing now. The breath of Buddha fills all flesh. The music of Shyam's flute shapes every creature. If I were not a particle of Christ's body, I could not sing this.
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