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ArtistThe body reclines upon yesterday’s news. Form appears first: paper, ink, skin, towers, sky. Then feeling: the warmth of color, the chill of shadow. Then perception: circles become suns, windows become eyes, the city becomes a dream. Then formations: memories, desires, fears, and stories gather like scattered headlines blown through an alley. And then— out of nowhere, the mind comes forth, a bright ribbon crossing the page. Yet the ribbon is woven from paper. The paper is woven from ink. The ink is woven from countless vanished moments. The five skandhas rise together like a newspaper unfolding in the morning wind. No owner is found among them. Only images, sensations, recognitions, impulses, and awareness appearing and disappearing. A city printed on fragile pages. A face reading itself. A thought believing it arrived from nowhere.
The body reclines upon yesterday’s news.
Form appears first: paper, ink, skin, towers, sky.
Then feeling: the warmth of color, the chill of shadow.
Then perception: circles become suns, windows become eyes, the city becomes a dream.
Then formations: memories, desires, fears, and stories gather like scattered headlines blown through an alley.
And then—
out of nowhere, the mind comes forth,
a bright ribbon crossing the page.
Yet the ribbon is woven from paper.
The paper is woven from ink.
The ink is woven from countless vanished moments.
The five skandhas rise together like a newspaper unfolding in the morning wind.
No owner is found among them.
Only images, sensations, recognitions, impulses, and awareness appearing and disappearing.
A city printed on fragile pages.
A face reading itself.
A thought believing it arrived from nowhere.
