“Where Nothing Cannot Be”

For how could non-being be,
if being were not already waiting
inside its shadow?

Before time spilled forward,
before space stretched its silent arms,
there was no void—
only the pure potential of what was not yet
choosing the shape of what would be.

But “nothing” is a word for travelers,
not a truth of the cosmos.
For non-being has never been empty—
only hidden.
A silence so saturated with possibility
it spills into form
the moment awareness touches it.

In the beginning,
there was no beginning.
There was only the non-Being:
a presence without qualities,
a fullness without shape,
a pure potential so complete
that the first act of creation
was simply the decision
to become visible.

And from that decision,
space blossomed like a great inward breath,
the universe rose:
a bloom of distances,
a river of unfolding instants,
the long migration
of possibility into presence.

and reality began its long migration
from the unmanifest to the manifest.

Even consciousness
is the echo of that ancient transformation,
the universe learning
to look back at its own birth.

There can be no nothing—
not ever—
because even the deepest void
is crowded with the unborn.
Non-being is not a negation
but the primal soil
from which all existence
continually rises.

Every star is a question
non-being once asked
and answered by becoming.

Every mind is a lantern
carrying the paradox
that we are made of the very mystery
that could never remain nothing.

There is no void.
There never was.

And we—
brief flames wandering the endless halls
of a waking cosmos—
are the places where the mystery
becomes aware of itself,
where the unmanifest learns
it can speak.

In us, the universe remembers
that it came from a source
that cannot vanish,
cannot be erased,
cannot fall into nothing—
because nothing
was always full.