Nothing Matters: Second Reading

Consider: Nothing matters.

We might ask: in what way does nothing matter?

Nothing is your empty screen, your blank canvas, your uncarved block, your period of silence, your absence of touch, taste, or smell, your respite from activity, your naked body, your bare wall, your unspeakable peace in the stillness of the present moment.

Nothing matters.

Granted, and to be sure, the perception of nothing always, always and forever requires something, but nothing matters because it offers promise, the promise of something with value, of something sacred, of something unique and irreplaceable.

Nothing provides a backdrop, a means of contrast by which to appreciate that special something. I might fill a wall in my home with pictures, but if I hang but one picture, that picture acquires more relevance and significance for having been placed alone in the midst of nothing.

Nothing invites a response. When I see an empty computer screen, I want to write. When I see a blank canvas, I want to paint. When I see an uncarved block, I want to sculpt. When I do nothing for too long, I want to act. Nothing invites participation and contribution.

Nothing alerts us to need and purpose. When I've had nothing to eat for too long, I get hungry. When I've had nothing to say or do for too long, I get restless. If, in the midst of activity, I've had nothing meaningful to contribute, I wonder: what is the point of this?

Nothing offers promise. Nothing provides contrast. Nothing invites participation and contribution. Nothing alerts us to need and purpose.

What could be more important than nothing?

Nothing matters, but in what way does nothing matter?