What is the ground made of? The dispensation of life & its ambitious collaboration with a ceaselessly eroding planet. Beside that, mostly death. Beside death? mostly emptiness---but of a prosperous kind that offers up an unlit accretion to swallow us. A kind that is a coming apart gathered about the dying-out as it frees each privileged end---ending most often where a pore begins. The vital naught only an egg can penetrate & only the dead make numerous. A fetal vanishment. A swollen decay turning into holes so there may be breath. A trembling hollow where the potent springs & withers more than it is perpetuated. It is absence creatured; the absence decay increases; to leave behind the beyond that is the dark that surrounds a hole one day we’ll rest in. The promised dark the ground is preoccupied with.
We as creatures of the short-lived, porous assemblies that exploit the interventions of emptiness, cannot fly free of the sunny preponderance, or stand against the excess of respiration unburden of soil, thoughtful & deathless. The hollow surrounds us. We do not disclose souls that may abandon the well-lit regard, the good corruption, the rot that initiates. Rather we are obliged to elaborate the determined contamination, this appetite of a planet; its solum of emptiness; this wasting without transcendence; this persistent, pregnant mortality.
Leave for it, what you live upon.
Corvus corax
