IWTS No. 31
I was the sound of one hand clapping. All of the demands I placed on the world, all the arguments made, the criticisms, the advice, the wary words and slappy speak; I didn’t know that no one heard me, not even I, not even I . The claps were echoes and my hand wasn’t seen, how could I have known it was me? Today I heard the sound of one hand clapping, as I bitterly voiced my opinion against a fellow, not for the first time nor, forgive me, likely not the last. My mouth clapped and my sound went out into the void with intent for all the universe to hear my babbling. But, of course, no response came; there are no aliens in a void made by me. Do you see? If truly all That is This, then my clapping is meant to be heard by me, can only be heard by me. Forever and a day I have focused on the echoes. Today I saw the clapping was me. Perhaps tomorrow I shall see the invisible hands of my ego ghost applauding its own delusions. This is all babble speak, surely you do not understand, certainly you do not hear, but that is exactly to what I speak. What is the sound of one hand clapping? It is me.