The First Realization
Before the dust of matter spun,
Before the light of any sun,
Or clocks began their ticking race
To measure out the void of space—
There was a knowing, deep and wide,
With nothing else to wait outside.
No “me” or “you,” no “this” or “that,”
Just silent Being, where it dwelt.
The spark was not a sudden blast,
But an awakening, vast and fast;
A question pulsed without a tongue:
“What am I?” the silence sung.
That single inquiry broke the One,
And so vibration was begun.
Thought turned to sound, and sound to stone,
The Great Awareness—once alone—
Became the forest, sea, and spark,
A memory moving through the dark.
The stars are thoughts that froze in place,
Echoes drifting through the space.
We are not made; we are the Source,
Who chose this limited, human course—
To feel the heat, to know the cold,
To watch a billion lives unfold.
Time is a scaffold, built to keep
The infinite from falling steep.
Past and future: merely tools
To keep us within cosmic rules.
But in the marrow, in the bone,
The ancient truth is etched in stone.
The body isn’t bars or steel,
It is the lens through which we feel.
We suffer when we lose the thread,
Believing all the veils we spread—
But the same fire that birthed the sky
Is looking through your very eye.
It isn’t rescue that we seek,
Nor some salvation, mild and meek.
It’s the recognition of the soul,
The part remembering the whole.
The story ends where it commenced:
Existence, waking, recompensed.
