I IMAGINE SPACE AND TIME
I imagine space and time and light
not saturated with a pervasive intelligence
that wanders through the multiverse like a mind
musing upon itself
like a hidden secret that wished to be known
but as wavelengths of thought as they are
toying themselves into matter
almost as the afterlife of a darker issue
that hasn’t quite come to peace with itself yet
that used to go by the name of God
but has recently started to call herself
a Unified Field Theory.
But however you wash
the old simulacra off like soot
on the inside of a lamp
or refurbish the Sistine Chapel Roof
with colours for proof
that things weren’t always this dull
everywhere people continue to look
for symbols and signs memes and similies
as if they were still one of the main themes of evolution
if not the prime mover.
The mind transcends thought
like a bird the sky
or a fish the water it’s swimming in
or a painter her creation
and though you can’t say what it is
because in everything it speaks for itself
and to seek your mind with your mind
is to mount your horse
to look for your horse
is to reach out with one hand
to pull the other up over a precipice
in the hope of saving yourself
like a godsend from a bad fall,
you can sit still and let your mind know you
like something delightfully new about itself
it’s just come upon
like an unknown world
that’s been growing
inauspiciously under its eyelids all this time.
And you can dress it up anyway you like
like a mirror that’s trying to stand on its own
just before it goes out into the world
to see for itself what it’s all about
and you can call it a world view in the making
as the branes break in hyperspace
like a profusion of cosmic bubbles
but you’re just seeing double
through your hydra-headed mind
what it means to dream when you’re blind.
The age of nothing is now
and the place where you find it is here.
The moment you add a past and a future to it
like a head and a tail
the Titanic’s set sail
and you’re making constant course corrections
in your wake
like the path of a glass snake through the night grass.
Things don’t come.
And things don’t pass.
The Japanese plum blossoms in autumn
and its leaves fall in the spring.
The morning doves lose their voices
and the crows start to sing.
When has it ever been
any other way?
The lucky day is when you discover
it’s all one day.
Meaning the eternal specious irreproachable present
of this Bergsonian moment now
where there is no death or birth
and whatever you’re becoming
is the way you change to stay the way you are.
The star looks past its own light
into the vast bipolar night
that includes it in its darkness
like love at first sight.
And God knows her own mind
in everything and everyone one of us
like the moon reflected
in myriad drops of water
like eyes she looks through for a sign
she can see again and again and again
what’s she’s made of herself in her solitude
wasn’t in vain.
The answers call for questions
and the questions explain.