is love more than truth

is love more than truth, emptiness less than love, tapestry of time and dance of space welcoming the end, for there is an end to all the universal beings as well. beyond the dual dominance of existence and death, elegantly featured in every life as the only two doors that are available and once one is used it cant be used again. the light shines from the window and what is behind the light is shrouded mystery, but here we can see where the light shines, and so this is the world and the drama and the life we imagine, under the lamp. imagining the possibility of something else, of a nature not both good and bad, true and untrue, bent and straight, that beyond the obvious there is an othering, a frightful nothingness of not this, but the words don't do it justice nor can the thought process contain its unworkablity. it has no place in this life, the world of magic and babies and fear and love and death, no, it has no link to this existence and so is dismissed outright as a fools game, what is the purpose to find what isn't there. yet what isn't there is exactly where we came from and are going to. not to this again as we so reverently pray each day for, to get up and eat and get ready and go do what we do until its time to stop and do something else, like the animals of the forest except in clothes and machines and buildings, but what is it we think death is, a party for the living? an escape from the drudgery and dullness a get out of jail free card? this time I am here to ask, what if its nothing, not anything, the end of all things and creations and dreams. no resurrection or judgment or heaven or hell, no creation of this world at all but the absolute end. the mass of life is empty action, painfully self inflicted problems and the unknotting and retying of the same knots. spiritual seeking is to find the end of the rainbow where the problems are erased by a greater understanding, of this life, of this world or worlds or layers or hierarchies. there is only the one door and the other, we have all used one door already and the other is all that remains. every day the play struggles from the bed or the floor or the bar from one set of arms to another, from the light to the dark to find happiness to be distracted to carefully find the way through the maze of requirements to live or super live to understand or experience or lose oneself to find another way. but the door awaits and behind its empty opening, there is no life, no self, no other to be or become. the body leaves, the mind stops, the self dissipates with the last electrical impulse of the brain. there is a nothingness, that has no place or time and empties everything into the maw of destruction, the final light of shiva's fire. refuge, there is none but the acceptance, the truth, that has no love, so in this world be thankful when a little comes your way and hold it tight until its gone, because the truth awaits always.