iv

the way is the Vacuum, used, but never used up
incomprehensible source of the 10,000 things
edges blur
strings untie
dark energy
virtual particles
undetectable but always there
we do not know where all this came from
perhaps it was here even before the Big Bang

The water that falls upon the arid plain
was once the water that flowed in waves upon the deep dark sea
the water from the well that you drink with great thirst
the water that flows through the river, rushing down rapids swirling in eddies
the water that is your perspiration, that are your tears
and blood is made up mostly of water, and so is urine and bile

The water locked into the glacial mountain tops
The water crystallized into snow flakes
ice floating upon the deep water of the placid lake
in the dark of December
the icebergs that crash through the narrow straits
upon which the great ships founder
the avalanche, as deadly as a tsunami
and in the void
blown away from the streaming sunlight
glittering in the comet’s tail,
and in the distant unfathomable clouds
where stars are born, deep in that near-infinite void
beyond all human’s ken

So sunlight and starlight
like impossible furnaces
that burn all the things under heaven
that ignite all the things above the earth
the epitome of the hells
of errant superstition
and yet without their blazing fire
that melts and breaks apart all manner of substance
even metal, even separating the elements of air itself
and without stars fading and dying
exploding cataclysmically
searing all things with light that cannot be seen
the fire of life would not be kindled
we, the children of this universe
are made of stardust

The trackless depths,
even when light no longer illuminates
the human eye
still we can hear the echoes
like waves from the distant past
each peak farther and farther away
each trough deeper and deeper
we can apprehend
the beginning that is perhaps no beginning
the beginning that is perhaps also the ending
though the beginning cannot exist
for all these things to be

For the beginning that we see
cannot be the true beginning
as the setting sun that we watch
has already sunk below the horizon
as when I hear the words that you utter
from your mountaintop
across the valley
you have already started to climb down
is not the echo the thing itself, attenuated?
and if the echo and the thing itself superimpose,
how can you say which is the thing, and which is the echo?

As all the thrumming of a single guitar string
are separate notes that are the same note
as one voice can sing many songs
and many voices can sing as one voice
Isn’t the song also as real as the voices?
For the song must be sung by voices, and
every voice, however hoarse and tuneless, still has its song
and even the mute and the deaf
are not excused from the cacophony
that is the crash and the echo
of the universe in evolution

I usually know better than to hinge my hopes on someone else being around, and yet I still hoped that I’d get to hang out with Mireya* this weekend. Wishful thinking as usual.

I’m reading The Infinite Book by John D. Barrow, and he explores the different kinds of infinities that we run into in every day life, and all of the sudden I think of “Groundhog Day”, my life caught in this infinite loop of nothing-ever-changing, except that I just keep getting older. Of course, this brings up the older story of Sisyphus condemned to roll a stone up a hill only to watch it roll down again. And I fantasize that this is it, that the rest of my life will be all about rolling this stone up the hill, then chasing it when it rolls down, cycle upon cycle, with nothing new under the sun, and I realize that I am once again under the fog of depression.

One of the most illuminating things I read about the mental illness known as depression is that the patient begins believing that things will never change, that things will always be this way, unchanging, no matter what you do.

Realistically, this never happens. Quantum fluctuations alone will ensure this, but practically speaking, history moves at a break-neck pace anyway. A year from now, who knows in what kind of situation I’ll be in? Just because I can’t envision finding some sort of happiness and fulfillment doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.

The only thing that I need to remember is that tomorrow will be a different day. I’ve learned not to have expectations, but, for now, this will have to pass for hope.