That’s a place you can’t find on a map; a place you can’t find in the world; a place that finds you, surrounds you and keeps you. This place is Nowhere. That’s where I am now or rather what’s in me right now. We will each other – I and the Nowhere, I and the Emptiness. This is something beyond Good and Evil, something beyond the existence itself.

I never talk about it – being Nowhere means being silent, words are extra. I never act upon it – actions are extra.

I sit under the pig tree. I don’t await anything, I don’t think anything, I don’t do anything. I just sit. I know that I sit. I know nothing before that and nothing after that, as this is the present. I know only the present.

There’s a hill in front of me. There’s a man on the hill. The man holds a knife. There’s a boy lying in front of the man. It is his son. The man doesn’t kill him.

There’s another hill behind me. There’s another man on that hill. He asks questions, loads of questions. Questions are like a knife – they kill him. He can escape from them, but he does not – he wants to live a good life.

There’s another hill on the right. There’s a room on the hill. There’s a woman in the room. It’s her own room. There are souls meandering around her. She catches them. She gives them the flesh. It’s her own flesh.

There’s another hill on the left. There are the Elders on the hill. There’s a 12-year-old child on the hill. The child speaks and the Elders listen. The child speaks the truth.

I sit under the pig tree. The leaves of the pig tree become orange. The leaves of the pig tree become yellow. The leaves of the pig tree die and are born again. I remain the same. Who am I?