Nothingness, Revisited (A Poem)

Nothingness 2.0

In the hush between breaths,
where silence swells like a forgotten wave,
I find the edge of nothingness—
a place where thoughts dissolve
like salt in a sea too deep to name.

Here, time surrenders its grip,
melting clocks into pools of soft gold,
and the weight of existence
slips through fingers,
no more tangible than a whisper
caught in a dream.

It is neither dark nor light,
neither void nor vast,
but a space between spaces,
where meaning goes to rest,
unburdened by the need to be.

Walking the line of this emptiness,
barefoot on the threshold of what is
and what is not,
each step becomes a question
that neither seeks nor finds
its answer.

In the nothing, I am all—
and nothing still.
The world fades to a hum,
a distant echo of itself,
and in that quiet,
I am free.

* * * 

How does it feel?

Collaboration between Ennyman and ChatGPT, August 2024

Elias Carver's Forlorn Farewell

In the quiet expanse of the Midwest, a man named Elias Carver moved through the motions of his mundane existence, oblivious to the imminent moment that awaited him with each careless step. It was rumored that something apocalyptic would happen on this, the last day of 1899, the last day of the century. Pastor Jordan had preached about it the previous Sunday, though Elias had been absent for one reason or another.

This morning Elias rose to the clatter of the kitchen, the aroma of frying bacon and the shrill tones of his wife's morning proclamations. He sat at the table, indifferent to the last hearty breakfast he would ever devour. His gaze lingered on the newspaper, the ink-stained fingers of history spreading tales of an era departing.

As he swallowed the last remnants of his eggs, Elias harbored no inkling that this was his final meal, the last time his taste buds would dance to the rhythm of his wife's culinary melody. The banality of bacon and eggs concealed the gravity of the moment.

Venturing out into the wooded expanse that had been his sanctuary for years, Elias trod the familiar trails with an absent mind. The rustling leaves and the creaking sighs of ancient oaks went unnoticed, for he saw none of the intricate beauty displayed on this last walk through the woods. As the verdant cathedral of nature enveloped him in its silent farewell, Elias remained deaf to the hymns.

Returning home, he engaged in the age-old ritual of marital discord. This last argument echoed through the halls. The weight of unspoken farewells lingered in the air. Elias and his wife sparred with words, unaware that this was the culmination of years of verbal battles – the final skirmish before the silence that eternity promised.

In the evening, his children played in the fading light, their laughter echoing in the yard. Oblivious to the significance of the moment, Elias watched them with casual detachment. The last time he would witness their innocent joy slipped away in the useless passage of time, dissolving like a mist.

The day meandered into night. Elias retired to bed, closing his eyes to the world. Dreams of forgotten days and faces unseen danced through the corridors of his mind. Little did he know, as slumber claimed him, that these dreams would also be his last. Before dawn Elias would be absorbed into the silence of eternal rest.

During these final minutes of the century Elias Carver's heart ceased its rhythmic dance as the world he'd known faded into the realm of yesterday. That last day, now passed, left behind the remnants of a life lived without appreciation or reverence, hours that slipped away unnoticed, like whispers in the wind. 

As the new century dawned, friends from long ago were struck by the news. Each recalled how inspiring he'd once been, always talking about "living large" and making an impact on the world unfolding before them. How very small the footprint of his life had become in the end.  

Emptiness and Fullness

Three poems by Charlene Groves.

I was sorting through folders this morning and came across this poem I had set aside to share sometime. I found the imagery gripping. From the first line, it proceeds through a series of images, each outdoing the previous in attempting to convey this psychological condition that is a hallmark of our lives at times: emptiness. We've probably all experienced it, the futility of everything, the sense of isolation.

The author of these poems was born blind. An avid reader and writer she became skilled at capturing in words those ephemeral emotions and making this distinct, giving definition to the undefined.

The latter two poems come from a different space in time. They read like Psalms, simple and effective. Thank you, Charlene, for sharing your soul with us in these words.

Emptiness

Emptiness is rain beating a tin can.
It's having words leap forth with quick and ready flame,
While the important things go unsaid.
It's standing on a street corner somewhere,
Waiting for someone who never comes.
Emptiness is not found in being alone.
It's being lonely.
It's your thoughts growing old with rejection.
It's people not understanding when you need them most.
It's hate and indifference.
It's always being just a little short of your goal.
But mostly it's people passing each other,
Not even trying any more to be together.


Last night when I was afraid

Last night when I was afraid,
You were there, holding my hand.
I examined a thought,
trying to piece it into my life.
But it didn't fit, and nothing could make it,
because it wasn't me.
I reached out to You, frantic, trembling.
And You touched me, Your warmth staying
until the fear spent itself,
and I sank into peace.


To Whom It May Concern

I cried to whosoever would hear, and the Lord heard me.
I cried I am hungry, and the Lord fed me.
I cried I am weak, and the Lord strengthened me.
I cried I am thirsty, and the Lord gave me water.
I cried I am tired, and the Lord gave me rest.
I cried I am empty, and the Lord filled me.
I cried I am lost, and He found me.
I cried I am lonely, and he gave me His presence.
I cried I am torn, and He held me.
I cried I am in torment, and He gave me peace.
I cried Lord I have done wrong, and He forgave me.
I cried Lord I am dying, and He gave me life.

C.F. Groves

When Emptiness Speaks, Listen

“His own opinion, which he does not air, is that the origin of speech lie in song, and the origins of song in the need to fill out with sound the overlarge and rather empty human soul.” ― J.M. Coetzee, Disgrace

***

“Emptiness which is conceptually liable to be mistaken for sheer nothingness is in fact the reservoir of infinite possibilities.” ― D.T. Suzuki

***

“Youth always tries to fill the void, an old man learns to live with it.” ― Mark Z. Danielewski

***

“By the Quiet Moment,

if you want to be woken by emptiness,

Just open your mind,
and your heart will meet something...
it always has something there.”
― Suka