Form is empty. Emptiness is form
And all things are the same
Not this or that; not good or bad
Not ugly or beautiful

For the illusion of separateness
Is only a perceived absence
Created by what is always present

For to give names and associations
And to choose one over the other
Is to dissect and discriminate the whole

These labels you give to yourself
Are only flexible summaries
Of inflexible characterisations
Useful only in placing and predicting
In an imagined social hierarchy

Notice how that character is only
The way you choose to see things
And the way you choose to react

Realise that your identity is
A swarm of disconnected
Impulses, thoughts, and feelings
Conjured up at any given moment
By causes real or imagined