We look but do not see it,
and say it is indistinct.
We listen but do not hear it,
and say it is faint.
We reach but do not grasp it,
and say it is ethereal.
Three failed means to knowledge
we weave into one
with no light above
and no shade below,
an unbroken unnameable thread
returning to nothingness.
It is the formless form,
the imageless image,
the waxing waning.
We meet it without seeing its face.
We follow it without seeing its back.
But holding onto it
we can guide our moment
and discover its ancient past.
This is the thread of the Way.