In trepidation
she regards the clouding egg
Lips full and eyes wide.
The voice penetrates the void
from the darkened room
Blowing into the aether
the chakras and arm.
Oh large eggshell in the void
Scrape at it for life
Oh progenitor infant
writhing in the void
as the empty voice calls us
‘You are clear of all
You are clear of all chakras’
He blows them away
‘You are clear of all Buddhas’
Little cardboard doll
He blows the parts to the floor
and in the dark room
The empty voice speaks once more
‘Now all that is left
Is to clear our perceptions.’
I open the box
to find in it the aether.
‘We must simply wait
For all to become the void.’
We are clear of all
The eggshell and the infant
We are clear of all
The chakras and the Buddhas
We are clear of all
Our perceptions and ourselves
For we are the void
We are lost in the aether
and the primordial sea.

The meaning is such
Being clear of all is to be
As prana paramita
There is no wisdom
And no wisdom to attain
This is the nature of things