this could’a been a poem       but it changed its mind
 
 
maybe just random thunder, nothing else?
              we will soon pass
 
 
 
 
 
 
first time I really heard this phrase,

you don’t know, what you don’t know,

I was impressed.   I remain impressed.

as big as a universe, as eloquent as forever.
 
 
 
 
 
look at the spoon the chair the table the person next to you

nothing     is about space.

what does it mean, this space that resides, that embraces, you, me

                    is space a participant?
 
 
space      is the medium through which we   connect   touch   engage
                 can it really be described as inert?
 
 
how many years have I asked how we combine this far respect
from one and another one.            why is aloneness in my roots?
 
 
how do I come to peace with this unknown measure?
 
 
 
 
 
when you sit with it you come to recognize
the word,    nothing    is a lie.   it is contrary to
what it portends.

not its fault.   not ours.   it is
the nature of this beast.

language     symbols     but those define our thoughts
 
 
 
 
 
we have no word.   we have no thought.
we have no feeling.   no remembrance.
describing    nothing    at all.
 
 
 
 
 
the very word itself, guilty of deception.
see how it references    nothing    as no-thing
by including the only beingness we recognize.

go ahead, describe everything.   at least you
get a running start if no end is in sight.   but
describe no-thing and we’re lost already.
there is no thingness to nothing, none.
          speechless

we matter to ourselves.   we are matter.
we are stars and hydrogen transfigured
by greater intent.     nothing,  does not.

at least not by what wedon’tknow
 
 
 
 
 
yet we are also space itself.   they say
most of matter is the empty space in-between
the bits of dear familiar fluff.

we are more nothing than something.
being blunt.
 
 
 
 
 

but really, what does nothing feel like

nothing has a beauty to it when looked at from outside.
 
 
of a recent medical procedure I was completely
anesthetized.   later, in recovery arrived
the clearest sense of nothing I’ve ever known.

might say it was peaceful without being broken.
might say it felt wonderful being that way.
but obvious isn’t it…

none of those, not one.   it was nothing.
no joy, no sadness, no fear, no desire, no
direction, no up, no down.

no past, no future.   no care.      no resisting
 
 
 
 
 
aside, to be honest, I feel no fear of not being
alive.   I worry some about transitions however.
 
 
will the ocean be gentle with me?
 
 
 
 
 
 
it is difficult being me.   no, not just now, although
that’s what I first thought myself.   but difficult
almost always when I breathe inside of me.
 
 
 
 
 
I am.   talking to the ocean, wave after wave.
suppose I thought that great presence would
answer me back.   room for my foolishness.

a performance of sorts.   but how genuine?
 
 
 
 
 
as you see & read, what’s your relationship
with the spaces here?   not even a second glance?
do you wonder what’s over your shoulder,
               something peripheral?

does     nothing     change what I present & you receive?
 
 
 
 
 
this is one part of the early night where
I wander about, bare feet on carpet then hardwood,
colder floor.   gratefully.   dim kitchen lights,
dark toward the front and outdoor balcony.
 
 
I’m drawn to it.   green face of ripe leaves
cloaked, but I smell them, their oxygen.
rich     full     embracing

yet fresh air past blood, into my heart is elusive tonight.

is it jealousy, why I’m uncomfortable with this abundance?
 
 
 
 
 
          I’m not just defined by what you see.

          I’m also defined by all the things
          you will never see.

               Derek DelGaudio, In & Of Itself
 
 
 
 
 
night time is the hardest time for me now.
I don’t know why.
 
 
 
 
 
 

garden in the dark