Nothing is the real Every Thing

My mind has been bursting
At its seams.
Filled with Everything
Filled with Nothing.

The act of living, it’s packed
With the Everything
That fills the hours
But hollows the soul.
And leaves a Nothing-sized hole
In the recesses of myself.

So I decided one day to put
The Everything on hold.
And have my fill of
The Nothing.

So I watched the sun rise
Listened to the birds chirp
Inhaled the aroma of my coffee
Soaked in the sights and sounds of rain
Flipped through photo albums
Called up an old friend
Savoured the taste of water
Pace mellowed, senses nimble.

I turned light with the weight of
All the Nothing that had filled my day.

And I feel that Nothing-sized hole

Fill up, well up with a light joy.

Sometimes Nothing is the real
Every Thing.