I sit on my bed. Books align my covers and blanket me in words. Words I feel have always been my way out, and into the light. Lately I feel like I can not find my thoughts to even create audible sounds. They have been muddled by a life that has moved sometimes I think on accord of its own. Regardless that I may have been spinning my compass in one direction, somehow now I have landed myself opposite of where I thought I ought to be.
I cried last night thinking about equations. Yes equations. Another form of reading this landscape we call Earth. If there are mathematical equations, or universal laws born of quantum physics, could it be possible there could exist an equation for nothingness? Could the nothingness take over the light of the stars? And if we are all made up of stars is there a nothingness that humankind succumbs too? I was fearful for the stars, and light, and my soul and the soul of the world. How did I find myself in such a compressed equation of my own making and thinking?
Then I discovered polarities amongst the many words sifting in and out of several books. Why I had a forgotten such a concept? That there could be an opposite too nothingness, lulled me into my dreams and I slept soon thereafter like an angel upon clouds drifting on love and not fear. I think it is always easier to look to the nothing we sometimes can feel in ourselves. I wonder now if that nothing left behind by destruction, loss, death, is actually a place where new things can grow, where light is so condensed, in a sense we have black holes in our spirit, and through it we travel until we get to the other side. There always is another side. From North to South, East to West. And a place in landing is ever so permanent that it cannot withstand the law of change.
I am convinced after traveling what seems like light years from my birth, that the paths traveled through life, the pain, the joy, will always shine its luminosity, and the nothingness will filter itself through and into. Creation was born from nothingness, words follow the same route. Through childhood and even into adulthood when my own thoughts becomes so muddled, when meaning is a stark strip of landscape in an abyss of chaos, and confusion, words, whether it be in poetry, whether it be a combination of misunderstood sentences, or a single stroke of luck after a long silence, or yes even when it takes the shape of numbers…save the darkness for another night. And so I am convinced when one is off the map, tripping through thorned bushes, look to the sky, and into the deepness of a still night, past the nothingness that can engulf but also rebirth, and find whatever it is that you may draw from the thin veiled air, read yourself back to calm peaceful awakening sleep.
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