A Strange Flower Is Blooming

A strange flower was about to bloom in my head, the Flower of Nothingness, the Flower of Absolute Nonexistence.

 

It hadn’t blossomed yet, but it was about to. It was on the very edge of blossoming, on the very edge of opening out in all its fearful fullness. It was about to show itself for what it was, but there would be no one there to see it. When the Flower of Nothingness blooms an essential part of its blooming is that there will be no one there to see it. That is the whole meaning of its blooming.

 

I knew that the flower inside my head was about to blossom and I was afraid. I kept on walking – I knew that if I stood still the petals would unravel and its final fruition would come. I was frightened of that final fruition coming.

 

Fruition was coming. That which had always had been was now going to be. That which always had been going to be, now was. The moment of fruition was coming. It had always been coming and now it was here. It had always been here.

 

The moment of final fruition was coming, that moment which always had been coming, that moment which had never not been. There is no escaping it. It’s blossoming is all that is, and it is nothing. It is the unspeakable blossoming of Ineffable Nothingness.

 

The blossoming of the Flower of Nothingness is the strangest thing anyone will ever see, and yet no one ever will see it. No one has ever gazed upon that flower and no one ever will. The blossoming of the Flower of Nothingness is too strange, too magical, too uncanny a sight for anyone to witness. It is always blossoming, and no one ever sees it. It is never not blossoming.

 

Outside, over the empty fields and hillsides, the Nothingness is gathering itself in great swirling vertices. It is gathering itself unto itself. No one sees it. It is endlessly refining itself, collecting itself, concentrating itself. The Nothingness gathers itself into itself – a Mystery that none shall ever witness.

 

A crow perches on top of a wooden post, its head cocked to one side. It knows that fruition is coming. The final fruition of all nature. The silent unfurling of that strange Flower – it is happening inside my head. The Flower of Nothingness is blossoming silently within. I am afraid of that blossoming.

 

 

 

 

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