Thing am I, No?

Let us examine the beauty of no-thingness together
See how it is so richly empty of everything
Watch it slide and spin serenely into immobility
Hear it sing its hymns of silence from peaks of formless mountains
And place your fleshy pink hands on its massively minuscule corpus

It is celestial and uninterrupted space
For the forming of that which is
And if it Were, then we would not Be
For our being is birthed from the no-thing all around and within
And we swim in it until the drowning that all thing-ness things endure

Cosmic journey through the void
How many of us do not even see it?