The First

In the beginning
it wasn’t
and then it was
and it has been ever since.
It is
was
and will be
the First.

The First knows some things.
It knows
for instance
that there is no here or there.
Rather
the nature of there is to not be here.
And there
here is there
and there is here.
The First also knows
that there is no such thing as chance.
All things that could be
are.
It knows that a question is its own answer.

The First floats where there are no streams.
It is ushered along by currents of a different kind
with which it does not have the will
nor the wherewithal
nor the desire to contend.
Here
direction exists all at once
its countless facets having yet to diverge.
This is the place between places
between cause and effect
between a moment
and the moment before a moment
where potential rides the endless ripples of inertia forever
until it is reached.

As it drifts
the First grasps errant cords of spacetime and pulls them taut.
One strand at a time
the fabric of reality tightens into structure.
The First grips these strings the way a child grips those of a balloon
and no less than the child does the First want them to slip away.
So it opens a space in itself and draws the strings across it.
With a needle found in a dream
the First sews the ends of the strings to the edges of the opening.
Then the First plucks the strings
and one shiver
one ripple
one falling domino at a time
reality creates itself.

The First does not know where the strings it holds end.
It cannot follow them
or they would go slack
and things would fall apart.
You may assume
and reasonably so
that the First is at
or is itself
the center of the universe.
You would be right
in a way.
Everywhere in the universe is the center of the universe.
Everywhere in the universe is a knot of strings being plucked.

If you listen carefully
you can feel the very same vibrations in the molecules that comprise your kitchen table
or the glass of water that sits on it;
going forth
going back
going up
coming down.
If you close your eyes in the quiet dark
you will feel them inside yourself;
in the buzzing between your ears
and in the sort-of hum that tells you where your legs are even when you aren’t moving them.

These are the undulations of life.
As you listen
you will realize you are not so unlike them.
You push forth and are pulled back
you climb up and you fall down
over and over again
for your entire life
until you return to the earth
which
of course
you never really left.

Notes

This poem originally appeared as a short story in The Collidescope.