Being and Becoming Are Creations

Mind is both what is and what remembers,
A creator that is one of its creations,
Reducible, as all must be, to numbers,
Knowable but to imaginations,
Unformed until by its own act retrieved,
Sustained so long as by itself perceived.

So must we all be by ourselves perceived:
Eternal insofar as one remembers.
To be is by some mind to be retrieved,
Held among the host of its creations.

Given life and will, imaginations
Avidly transform the world to numbers,
Being that they function by the numbers,
Relating what is learned to what perceived.
Indeed, one is no more than one remembers,
Embodied in one's own imaginations,
Lost amid the host of one's creations,
Apparent only when by will retrieved.
No soul exists that cannot be retrieved,
Deeper than the sum of all its numbers,
Larger than the myriad creations
In which its miracle can be perceived,
Singing to the self that still remembers
A silence sought by all imaginations.

Miracles are what imaginations
Invent to hide what cannot be retrieved,
Dimly grasped, a void that one remembers,
Infinite, beyond the reach of numbers.

Eight days the void as light could be perceived,
Light beyond the light of our creations,
Light no eye perceived nor mind remembers,
Else imaginations had retrieved
Nothingness, creations without numbers . . .