holding pattern

what I miss about it, not consciously but gapingly, is the experience of emptiness as a sacred state, a cherished and valued state.

now I'm back at hatred again, the hatred of forgetfulness, dumbness, passivity, hatred of being a receiver, a follower, of the clamoring listening and the attendant inability to retain, the patternless waiting, gaping, gaping, the terrible void and the degradation and worthlessness that seem inherent to the state.

but I want to write down to remember: I was a follower, sought after and protected, and I had a place. And the quality of my forgetting was loved, the clarity of my reception and my given emptiness, silence, utterly open. night after night. by one, by several, by many.