In the beginning it was no-thing,
Nothing to see, to grasp, to think
A seed of Light has fallen asleep
Resting in an imagined universe of color,
Of diverse beauty and sinuous delight,
Springing manifested multiplicity,
Appearing compact in this dream.
Oneiric lens create a place - a world,
Where Stillness envisions aliveness
Knowing itself through it.
This fantasy of no-thing-ness lasts
Only for a split second,
In fact consciousness does not know
A moment or what that could be,
Solely a finite mind might frame it
Believing in a beginning, a toss,
Stillness has no journey, nothing to display
It lacks a destiny or a director of the play,
This graceful presence has no name or attribute,
Yet within it all names arise
Isn't life a dream of stillness?
What is that which you call 'I'?
Topic(s) of this poem: consciousness, creation, metaphysical, universe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.