In a particularly insightful line in his poem, I Like The Wind, Robert Wrigley notes "I like the fact that the dog is not barking."

At first glance, this line might not sound like much, until we consider what the dog not barking sounds like. Like the proverbial sound of one hand clapping, it is silence, but by constructing the concept of the-silence-of-the-dog-not-barking in our minds, that silence can bring us joy, happiness and contentment. Of course, we can construct other things out of the sound of silence that may bring us things other than joy, happiness and contentment (the sound of the phone not ringing comes to mind), but for now, let's just think about the sound of the dog not barking.

The emptiness of the dog not barking becomes a form. Form is emptiness and emptiness is form. It's a form that we've constructed in our minds but once created, it become real. We can confirm the existence of the form with others ("can you hear the dog not barking?"). Like all forms, the sound of the dog not barking arises (when the dog stops its barking), sustains (for as long as it's quiet), and eventually ends (when the dog starts barking again). And like all forms, we choose how we interact with it, and whether we like it or not - we might not be so glad about the sound of the dog not barking if an intruder was entering our home.

When we think about it, "home" is also a form constructed in our mind. We can all agree that a "house" is a more-or-less temporary collection of boards, nails, plaster, glass, etc., the "more" or the "less" depending on the time scale we consider. But after putting our furniture and family and stuff into the impermanent house, we conceive of it as "home" which brings us joy when things go well and sorrow when they don't. But it's still nothing more than that aggregate of boards, nails and so on - the "home" part is just what we've added to it in our minds.

Many years ago, an episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus involved a high-rise apartment building constructed solely by hypnosis. The architect/hypnotist, a certain El Mystico, simply hypnotized the tenants into believing the existence of the building, and thinking it real, they moved in and made it their home. When asked if the apartments were safe, El Mystico replied, "Of course they're safe. There's absolutely no doubt about that. They are as strong, solid and as safe as any other building method in this country, provided, of course, people believe in them." The cameraman then interviewed a tenant.

Tenant: Yes, we received a note from the Council saying that if we ceased to believe in this building it would fall down.

Voice Over: You don't mind living in a figment of another man's imagination?

Tenant: No, it's much better than where we used to live.

It's sort of like that, except that we're our own El Mystico.

Buddhist readers will already know where this is all going - like "the dog not barking" and "home," self is also a form constructed in our minds, which has no absolute, concrete reality beyond those of the other empty forms we've been examining. But what Buddhists often seem to forget is that just like "the dog not barking" and "home," once created, the self does have an existence, and an existence that we can confirm with others. Like the dog not barking and home, the self is impermanent and empty of any absolute or independent existence, but once created, it is, in fact, a "creation" and every bit as capable of bringing us joy and sorrow as that quiet dog or our so-called home.