Plenty of Nothing

As Alice said to the White King in, Through the Looking Glass, I saw Nobody, to which he replied, I only wish I had such eyes as to see nobody. Nobody is like Nothing.. And nothing's plenty for me. tra la.

In political terms, Trump is a man of no substance who is running to stay out of jail so he can play golf for four years while the country, as we know it, vanishes into the abyss.

The ultimate exercise in nothingness must be John Cage's 4'33'' marked only by ambient sounds and noiseless reflection. For some the silence was deafening. 

Shakespeare, that rascal, wrote Much Ado About Nothing but his nothing was a pun for No Thing, thing being the term for a phallus, at the time, the long and short of it. Nothing has quite a history. Where would we be without it?

Poetry changes nothing said W.H. Auden………but people die everyday for lack of it wrote W. C. Williams. Maybe that nothing which poetry changes is worth looking into.

There is a vast something in Nothing. It’s the absence better left unsaid or unsayable. Look for the meaning of a poem in among the words. The intervals make the music. The pause is pregnant.

When a friend needs our ear we are best advised to be quiet and reflecting. Just being present and silent allows the flow. All is nothing at all.

One of the problems with this world is our hunting and gathering of too many things. As the comedian says, I don’t want everything. Where would I put it? With our consumer brains we want, we grab, we accumulate heedless of consequence. The earth is scarred. The air is toxic. Our souls are not fed. 

At this age, my time is now to liquidate. No attachments, the Buddha said. Disowning isn’t all that easy. That Kwakiutl mask is still blessing the Hopi pots. I’d like to think those books on one shelf are in conversation with those on the other. Wittgenstein is busy deconstructing with Derrida and the Minimalists have little to say about it. Reluctantly I'll let them all go but invite them to my fantasy Thanksgiving table.

In the end we have the Nothing which is Everything. It has all been interjected one way or another. The album of life experiences is in my inner vault, that inviolable place which takes up no space, gathers no dust and is impervious to breaking news.