Unoccupied

No one's here, and nothing's happening.

After staying in one place, thinking that, if we did, everything would come to us, everyone's vacated.

The emptiness has kicked in.

Leaves are raked, the grassblades put back together, order is restored by the powers-that-be.

Those who know more than a little about suffering--like Buddha or Christ--are strangely quiet: it must be in their nature, in these troubled times, to leave us alone so that we can figure out the world all by ourselves.

For there will be no solace for the outraged human race

And so we return to ourselves--having nothing else to return to--sitting for a few moments in the sun or  contemplating the fountain in the courtyard of the Zen Center on Page Street, San Francisco, wondering if it was the work of Julia Morgan, architect, or if it was added later in the building's life.