In the hush of dawn,
the temple stands empty—
or so it seems.
No monks sweep the floor,
no incense curls upward,
no bell breaks the silence.
Yet the wood remembers footsteps,
the air hums with unseen chants,
and light itself bows before the altar.
The emptiness is not absence—
it is presence unbound,
where form and formless meet,
where sound and silence breathe together.
No one is here,
and yet all things are.
The temple and the mountain,
the wind and the heart—
not two.
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