We were born adrift,
resilient beads of awareness
shimmering on a high sea, buoyant.
No land in sight.
The residue of saturated space-
meaning that cooling Emptiness
could no longer hold in solution,
dew drops from the Night’s sold out Vacancy,
upon a blank canvas.
No land in sight.
We were all swaddling vulnerabilities,
nascent and curious Futures-in-Training,
fields of Potential whose every vector
pointed away from a singular Discontinuity:
the particular breach in the skein of Nothingness
through which we squeezed, emerging,
like the shoots of flowers pinched from cracks
in a granite cliff,
ephemeral Beauty- no, really–
blossoms of fast time decorating
an ancient bulwark whose changelessness
is but the slow time grinding of audacity back into a salve.
We were Personalities poured and spreading
like batter on a hot griddle, thickening,
we set sail.
we distill meaning from our very movement.
We cultivate context and circumstance,
tend them carefully,
imbue them with desire,
enmesh them with our vector ascendency,
and harvest these delicate herbs to flavor the brew-
a wind is blowing East!
I found a meaning!
Choice is the brush, and we are the ink.
And meaning is derived from the brush spreading the ink…?
(The conscience of a grain of sand
will tell you this is tomfoolery…)
we set sail in great circles. Oceans are spheres,
and all paths lead back to the Start.
Rallying cries obscure a past
whose traceability vanishes into smoke.
Thank God the sailing is not always smooth,
for storms that tear the mast right off the ship,
and render the Brew
Thank God for the spoiled provisions,
the foul-smelling crates, nearly emptied,
of Bad Ideas.
Thank God there are only four directions to try.
Thank God we run out of options,
lose our wind, and stall,
having reached the most remote
and diminished point in our field of Potential.
Trillions of miles from the sun,
the light is, thank God, quite weak.
Thank God we all eventually wonder,
how is it that we might
back into the Atmosphere of Meaning.
And thank God for Meaning,
who doesn’t want a Refund,
and pulls the door shut in our faces,
and then whispers through the intercom:
“You fools! You already are Meaning.
An incredibly potent distillation of Emptiness.
Unfortunately, the planet is out of the star.
Everyone is watching, and waiting,
because we have finally figured out,
that Creation cannot go back.
So keep going…
Something Beautiful is on the verge…
Everyone can feel it…”
inside of us
““You fools! You already are Meaning.”
A yes, I am the Fool and the Fooled, the One searching for Meaning and the Meaning Itself.
Nice to re-meet Myself, Michael. Peace on Earth, Ik
Likewise. I began in college as a physics major, full of big, but not precisely technical questions. I cannot wait to read more of your writing and hear more of your thinking about how you’ve stitched together meaning in your theoretical research. I’m also grateful to you for explaining the word anacephalaeosis on your about page. I needed that. Michael
It’s amazing, isn’t it? I created every scientific discipline, I am every scientific idea, I am every experiment – all trying to prove Myself to Myself.
I had no idea what I was getting in to when I got in to science. All I knew was work hard, publish papers, get grants, give talks, attend meetings, teach. I had no preconceived notions about what I would find or, worse yet, what I was actually looking for. When I stumbled down the rabbit hole of theory, I came face to face with all of the great writings and ideas and scholars about the quest to find Myself.
It could not have happened any other way. And now that I know Myself through and as theory, it’s hard to do anything other than try to wake Myself up.
Unifying Humankind is the ultimate goal, indeed. Thanks for the chat. Peace, Ik
“It” is indeed amazing. Incredibly so. And “It” is grateful to your for having the courage to follow the thread and express what you have found. An amazing thing to me is the way that truth can find an infinite number of ways to be known, experienced and expressed. This phrase popped into my mind once and maybe is related: what has seven billion moving parts and no fear of failure?
Peace returned, Michael