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.
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.
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,
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.