the great nothing

a life is a rich thing
full of images and impressions
carried on the light
of dead and dying stars
fed into our brains
through our eyes, our ears and our mouths

beneath this hoarded collection
of photonically induced patterns
beyond all the effects and their causes
lies something else
something that is no thing
devoid of substance, density, volume
and meaning
yet existing, as we exist
primordial
pre-phenomenal

like a soul... except that it knows death
and abides by it

when I speak and when I dream
electric impressions speed within
gliding through nerves
slipping in and out of synapses
and axons and dendrites and neurons
they contract my muscles
they dilate my pupils
and they engorge and fill and feed
my flesh

but when I stop and when I cease to think
a deep forgetfulness descends upon me
and I sometimes even have trouble
remembering all the in-betweens
and all the phenomena
carried back and forth
in tortuous oneiric streams

---------------------------------------

now the drops outside my window
drip and stream and fall
like the photonic quanta within
meek, ineffectual and small...
but I know
what lies beneath is immense
and intense

a presence before which I am enthralled

(a presence as real
as an invisible ocean
shifting and flowing
substance without form
depth without surface
a balance without purpose
a terrifying harmony
that sprawls
in the midst of all)

and there will come a day
when I too will stand silent
without putting up a fight
on a darkened shore
where phantom waves press tight
and away from my own gravity
I will crawl
to finally, discretely
let go this pointless clutch
(and be at least grateful for this much)
as into the great nothing
i fall