There is nothing anywhere, for everywhere we look there is something. Look over there, look at all those things. Walk over there and there is nothing. But now that you are there, look this way, for surely there is something here. Walk over here, there is nothing. But now that you are here, look over that way, look at all those things over there...

Walking in the woods, you are beckoned down the mossiest route. Look at that view there, how mossy it is! Let's go that way, for it is surely the mossiest, the warmest, the most sublime, the most comfortable. If we go that way, into the moss, we will find ourselves surrounded by the most living things. So we walk that way, and it is indeed the mossiest. And now we are there, and up close we see the brown of the dirt and the red of the rotting deadfall in among the moss. And the moss, looking closely, has little clumps of dirt at the bottom, and all its little tendrils are different from one another, and some tiny edges of its growth are yellowed with death.
And looking up from the ground, we see what might serve us as a little trail; a coincidence of spaces between all the bigger things of the woods, suitable to walk through. Whyever this winding stretch of openness and passability exists, it is for the moment a path, and so we will walk that way, because on either side of this path, you will see there is much moss on both sides, moss of deep and of light greens. The moss there has no dirt at the bottom, no tendrils yellow with deadness. That makes this path mossier, and gives it a better moss-nature than where we now sit, so we will walk down it. There is nothing here, so we will go there.

And then there is nothing there. So, look yonder. And then there is nothing there, so look yonder. And then there is nothing there, for there is nothing anywhere. But look yonder...

Look at all the things over there. Look at the coincedence of openess that appears for us to travel through. Look at that! And that! So you walk there, but there is nothing there. And you walk there, but there is nothing there.
And there is nothing anywhere.

And in the woods there is a mossy path in the green leaves. There is a passable linearity of open space. And down that way are mushrooms and moss and lichen and leaves and rocks moist with dew or rain. The earth that peeks through the green is rich and damp, and it seems it could grow life most beautifully. So we walk that way, but nothing is there. And then we see that there is something that way, and we go there and there is nothing. And yonder in all directions is something, infinite numbers of somethings, but here there is nothing. And also there is nothing anywhere.