The Spaces We Try to Fill
By Don Iannone

Nothing there
...except what we write
...into the space inside us
...that grows the more we fill it.
Habitual humming thoughts.
One to the other and the other
...that doesn't really exist
...except as a space holder for another.
There is no other--
other than that which we create
...to keep us company.
Just elevator music
...keeping the mind occupied
...as it endlessly rises and falls
...again and again.
Even when you observe it
...it doesn't stop.
Instead it becomes just another object
...the observer observes.
Just consciousness--that's all.
Scary thought?
It's just a thought.
So who are you? Who am I?
Always that which comes before.
And that too is always changing.
Nothing permanent: not you or me.
Let go of whatever else you seek.
Rest in knowing you are already that.

Category: Metaphysical poetry about
how we experience our consciousness.