Strange thing. A lot, more and more seems to suggest that the world is empty. Not almost empty. Not empty in the sense that both the cosmos and the atom are mostly empty space, or other outdated misunderstandings. Not empty in some contrived, pardon me, spiritual cathegories either. Literally empty. There is nothing here. Not here, not there, not anywhere. Which doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Quite the opposite. Nothing exists — everything happens.

But it’s not the emptiness that’s strange. It is what it is — what’s so strange about that. What’s strange is the persistent, inescapable illusion that you can meet someone, that you can touch someone, and only then everything will fall into place, and only  then everything will be alright.

Listening on errant waves.