I wrote a poem today--Out of Emptiness

Waking up in the middle of the night
Into nothingness, empty of sight and sound

Primordial state of being

A vacant feeling like the beginning of feeling
Or that awful confusion of a dull, empty mind
Its entire memory erazed somehow, leaving no trace.
Nothing.
A live mind with nothing to be mindful of.

There is something in the darkness. Me.
My hand moves as if stung by the serpent mind–
Involuntary–CLICKKKKKK in the blank
and comes into a glow the shadded bedside lamp–
The first thing to come into being visibly–
A halo of being in nothingness, fading out into nothingness.
Or is the halo swallowing up the endless darkness?
(Ultimately no matter what’s first? (So important now.)
You come, make someplace your home and then leave
Another you comes, lives in your home, sleeps in your bed, and leaves
Still another you comes… The ritual repeats.)

My hand in the golden glow–the first time to see myself
In the middle of the night, the nothingness.
Then the details begin to show slowly
Like a live time-lapse evolutionary process–
The details of all values from the blackest to the brightest:
My phone, laptop, books, a pen and notebook…
Ranged in the valued halo.
Life begins!