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Zed

Zed

Zed

 

Star-gazing in the
navel of my galaxy,
I contemplated 
zero.
 
The naught
that holds place,
space, horizons, 
multitudes to 
be borne.
 
It is the initiator
and crescendo
of all that is,
arrival and
departure
at once.
 
It is nothing
and everything
and far beyond
apprehension.
 
We count it.
We trade it.
We note it.
Amass it.
Still it
eludes.
 
This oval.
Like an
egg.
 
Launching
cycles, sequence,
inducing flow, 
continuity.
 
And yet it lives
in the void, the 
swollen effulgence 
of blankness,
of nil. 
 
This is where 
she resides.
 
She’s been 
relegated 
to this 
nothing— 
her feelings,
her intuition, her 
fertile knowing that 
she holds the crucible 
of creativity that
abides as  
all.
 
She has been
exiled to our shadow
land, whether by inner
or forces “outside” of 
our understanding,
we sapients. 
 
For we’ve been afraid 
of this place we carry,
that carries us, our earth,
our spiraling milky way,
this dark caldron of
making, this divine 
portal—all of us
made afraid 
for aeons of 
existence, 
of her.
 
She calls herself to us
in myriad and marvelous
ways, calling us to see the
wonderment, the banishment, 
the nothingness that contains 
the everything—to see 
our hand in this dark 
and to hold it.
Out.
 
Willingly.
Openly.
 
For there is
no thing 
to fear
in the
other 
hand
 
—opening.
 
Regardless
of our past
disinclination
to unclench 
our fists, our
reach to the
waiting grasp
of possibility.
 
We are witnessing
the call to hold hands
in spite of the fog of
war that engulfs 
our seeing one 
another in
our true 
light. 
 
To make amends
with this, “THE” darkness
that births and bequeaths
and invites new scope to
enhance our field, our
new inception our re-
cognition. 
 
To give it,
her, yin, new
consideration,
and with it, new
language to describe
what is not readily 
describable,
inscrutable,
but not
ever
bad.
 
[Words=thoughts;
thoughts=things]
 
Unburying it
from our grave
grave yard, and
rescinding our evocation
of “enemy,” spoken
or unspoken, 
thought or
unthinking in
her presence.
 
For until we do,
we will keep this
divine feminine range
of our expansive human 
spectrum, with all her
mystery and depth, her 
untold wisdom in the dark
so besmeared, it only continues
to blind and scare and obscure
rather than bestow
clear new sight.
 
We will not
be free until
we free her,
what she is:
the unknown 
pregnant with 
possibility.
 
Nothing,
aka, zero,
is more vital
right now.
 
Presence.
Not losing our
heads to definitives 
of timeline and narrative
when the infinite does
not operate on 
that scale.
 
We are
hyper yang
at the moment,
for this part of us
has been made the
de facto head of the
human embodiment
and is no longer
content in its
silo, its echo
chamber, on
its teetering
perch of
diametric
imbalance.
 
However
unwittingly.
 
He seeks union.
And is showing that
in a mobbed mind
overflowing 
with need
to be all
or none.
 
A heavyweight
shadowboxing 
face-off between
the energies of
survival and 
of thriving.
 
Punch-drunk
and listing.
 
The sun is 
almost directly
overhead in this
soon high noon
and the air it
stirs will let
us all take
a deep
breath.
 
For now,
we allow
the match
to meld.
 
We hold hope
as a great 
activism
in the face
of what our
minds have 
hitherto known
as reality, this
long division
unknotting it
self to see that
it is one piece 
of fabric.
 
Patience.
Not our long
suit. But if we
are to change our
world, to coalesce 
our great potential, 
we must find
within us that
which we 
seek.
 
Peace.
 
And 
nothing
less.
 

∞/∞

Eve Moore ©2021
© 
Photo: Eve Moore

Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well. 

For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here! 
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.


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