Mind the Gap
I stare into the void, Am I helpless there?
This I knew from gazing at its emptiness as its abyss took me.
Yet I go into Ginnungagap,
Where my restlessness and movement disappear.
This is the source before the labels,
I realised even the I and am is nothing, not even the blank canvas.
What can faith procure without action?
What can action procure once it is rendered fruitless?
What in me lives hopelessly there?
Into the emptiness I surrender and I am relieved of my content,
In the emptiness I see my self as nothing.
Nothing without my stories, nothing without living.
So can I see through the void to see what lies beyond?
Beyond the laughter, tears, pains and joys?
Beyond dualities of chaos and order.
Yes, there is death the destroyer, there is love the creator,
laughing at its madness of being and doing
two as one and one as nothing and nothing as all.
And all as nothing.
Is this nihilistic fervour?
Is this fatalistic flavour?
No, none of those, this or that.
Not even the words that form this compulsion of writing.
Not even you or me, or them or they.
Who are you? What is a question but a quest the ‘I’ is on?