Emptiness Has A Twin

Recently I have been feeling increasingly vacuous, as if newer and newer levels of emptiness are waiting to be discovered in the deepest recesses. Somewhat tragically though, I realise soon enough that Emptiness is of two entirely different breeds falsely claiming a common descent. Firstly, there is that occasionally pleasant state of confronting a tabula rasa, whereby consciousness presents your ego with an empty slate; a canvas washed clean with hyssops of time and chance. How freely can seeds of inspiration then be sown, how indescribable the anticipation of fresh sprouts of renewal! You paint the sun and sketch the stars, and elect your most favourable azimuth for them to reside in. You feel cleansed of false memories and break free from the shackles of karma. Every opportunity becomes a handsome stallion, unopposed on the vast plains of your mind...And then there is the flip side; the profound realisation of Emptiness as Absence-Of; such that even the beginning of its contemplation is a cardinal sin, for then you presuppose some entity in inherent nothingness. Dare you speculate on the texture of this quintessential emptiness? What do you make of its colours and sounds, what do you surmise from its pulsating walls; its ripples of hurt and pain? An intoxicating invitation to endlessly descend, till you master the intonation of silence. O Fool, listen to your own chuckles of misery when you discover how similar it is to your heart!