We can never find the void, although the void is always here and now, because the void is hidden. Where the void is found, there the void, as found, is less void. Found void enters being. Unfound void is more void than found void. The void hides in the shadows of leaves, in the heat of summer, in empty gardens, in still ponds, in closed books, in silence, in the empty blue sky, in weathered paint, in cold clear winter, in fog and rain, in drifted snow, in fields of weeds and in fields of mown grass, in unused chess sets, in moonlight, in unfinished conversation, in forgotten dreams, around the corner of the future, in the completely invisible, in the entirely unknown.
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