Singularity is the siren’s sound that calls us home for dinner: home for alignment and attunement; home for repair of the universal heart of being. The universal heart is the synchronized breath of All That Is in unbroken, undifferentiated resonance.
The movement towards singularity is heralded by sound, that one long note held together exquisitely for a moment, that can last a day or a million years. That note, that moment of complete synchrony is always followed by silence, by completion and the recognition that there is nothing more to be said or done, nothing misunderstood. It is the sigh of lovers spent after the deepest of embraces.
As soon as the piercing, universe-wrenching sound announcing the imminent fall into nothingness occurs, there is a moment of shimmering into silence, into the singularity of dark matter and soundless, teeming potentiality. In our terms, that moment can last a nanosecond or a trillion years, for in this place of being time has no meaning.
And then the cycle begins again: the breath, that single ray of light out of the darkness of singularity, when All That Is begins its next breath, its next inhale of expansion. Riding on the wings of sound, a ray of light emerges from the silence, the crushing silence of the singularity. There is thought, there is wondering. The “What if…?” of universal mind once again begins to differentiate within its undifferentiated Self. What beauty there is in that individualized expression, the unique blossom that can only twinkle and disappear.
The singularity differentiates itself partly because the search for that brief moment of synchrony just before the silence falls again is so exquisite, so unimaginably sweet, that we would separate again just for the pleasure of “making up,” of finding unmatched harmony, synchrony, and resonance in light structures, finding and returning to the brief moment of holding the breath of all potential being, between the cycle of inhaling and exhaling, the cycle of expansion and contraction, before the light goes out again into the deafening silence of the Singularity.
That moment is the song of the thorn bird, the sound it makes impaled and dying, the sound of having known life outside the inevitable and continuing Singularity; a life that clearly is, and yet ultimately can no longer be an individuated unique being. Its song of sorrow and beauty and pain makes the heart of All That Is, of the Singularity, weep with an emotion it otherwise could never know except through the wail of the dying bird that feels alone, abandoned, and apart. But it is not….
The siren’s song is enough to make the ONE breathe again, and so another ray of light emerges from the darkness of the singularity that was completely and fully spent, enough to make it endure upheaval and war and disaster and extraordinary discoveries of the mind and heart, as each attempts to become its unique expression apart from the whole.
Then one more time, endlessly, just to experience the moment of resonance again, just for the beauty of the impaled thorn bird, just before the light and sound go out into nothingness, into All That Is, the universe lets out a loud and powerful wail, a song before dying into eternal being.
And so it goes, the cycle continues…
- 12,000 years
- 35,000 years
- 260,000 years
- a million years
- a billion years
- a trillion years
Waiting to exhale….
[Thoughts upon waking, written by Helen on 26 February 2011. These thoughts followed and are related to a long conversation with a dear friend in Europe, Rachna in ‘t Veld, whose own poem triggered my musings.]