The void of time fills up with occasions bright,
Each grasping, feeling, yearning into form;
The universe—a symphony of light
Where past and future meet in endless storm.

So Whitehead taught: reality’s not clay,
But living moments born and passed away.

The actual world—a tapestry unfurled
Of prehended moments, gathered whole;
Each subject weaves the threads of what has swirled
Into new patterns as the cosmos rolls.

No static substance underlying all,
But drops of experience, self-creating;
Each moment rises, answers to the call,
Then perishes, its being still vibrating.

The great philosopher's vision clear and bold:
Reality is not of things, but acts;
Each ‘now’ contains what every ‘then’ has told—
A living process, not just lifeless facts.

The past is not just gone, but flows within
Each nascent moment, ready to begin.

Beyond the veil of common sense’s reach,
Lies truth more fluid than our words contain;
Each entity, like waves upon the beach,
Is but a ripple in experience’s chain.

The Poet’s primordial vision guides
Each occasion toward its best becoming;
The lure of beauty where all truth resides—
Eternal objects, endlessly oncoming.

The universe is not a clockwork cold,
But living feeling, sentient at its core;
Each quantum flash of being, brave and bold,
Creates itself, then passes through death’s door.

So Whitehead saw beyond the ancient rift—
As moments bloom and die, existence shifts.

Each moment blooms, a pulse in Time’s great sea,
Not things, but acts—events that come to be.
From drop to drop the cosmos takes its shape,
A dance of mind and matter, wild and free.

No static stone, no idle, lifeless clod—
But process moves beneath the soil and sod.
Each flash of being, brief as morning dew,
Is real as stars, is kissed by thought not odd.

These “occasions” rise with feeling at their core,
They prehend the past, yet seek a little more.
Each grasps the world, then yields itself in turn,
A spark that fades, but opens up the door.

They form a web, these nodes of sentient flare,
The past flows in, the future stirs the air.
Reality’s not built of blocks and beams,
But woven through with feeling, time, and care.

The world’s not made, but making ever still,
With every act a push against the will.
No fate is fixed, no god is locked above—
Creation wakes in each occasion’s thrill.

So sip this cup—each moment brims with wine,
Distilled from all that was, in grand design.
A drop contains the cosmos in its fold,
And flickers out, yet calls the next to shine.

The world becomes, it never merely is,
A flux of feeling, not a world of fizz.
No atom sits alone in timeless gloom—
It feels, it yearns, it tells us what it does.

Each moment’s born from many come before,
It draws their echo, adds a little more.
Then perishes, a whisper in the dark—
Yet leaves a trace no future can ignore.

Subject becomes object, tossed in the stream,
Each plays its part within the larger scheme.
No soul stands still, no world remains the same—
All shift and shape as in a woven dream.

From Poet’s lure to matter’s smallest twitch,
Each moment leans toward depths we cannot pitch.
Reality’s a poem never done—
Penned not in stone, but in becoming’s witch.

Not being, but becoming—this we are,
More like a flame than like a fallen star.
We flicker, burn, and pass our light along—
Each life a note in Time’s unending bar.

So here we dance, occasion upon flame,
Each flicker formed with joy, regret, or shame.
Yet in the forming lies the sacred spark—
A fleeting self that bears eternal name.

The stars themselves are thoughts that came to be,
Each nova sings in process, not decree.
A galaxy’s a rhythm, not a rock—
It hums with ancient acts of poetry.

Each quark, each pulse, each curve of stellar flare,
Responds to past and feels the future’s air.
The cosmos is a mind that builds itself—
A scaffold strung with intuition’s care.

No vast machine with cold and mindless gears—
But swirls of yearning shaped by hope and fears.
A thousand billion hearts in every sphere,
All whispering their stories through the years.

The past is real, but not a prison cell,
Its echoes guide, but do not bind or quell.
Each moment holds the power to re-form
The curve of time, the place where starlight fell.

From primal flux to now, the arc has bent—
Not by command, but lure and deep intent.
A One who woos, not rules, the world to grow—
Each choice a note in Love’s great instrument.

So let the comet blaze and atoms spin,
Each dance of dust a tale that dwells within.
No void is empty—everywhere there burns
A silent hymn of process born in din.

Creation is not done—it is the song,
Each verse a shift, each rhyme both right and wrong.
We are the singers, listeners, and score—
The universe becoming all along.

And when one thought has flickered through the mind,
More brain-realms answer, leaving none behind;
Thus contemplation’s thread unwinds its spool,
Each moment to the next forever twined.

(The Greatest Stitcher; no seams)

Behold its nature’s aspects five unfold:
Compositional structures manifold,
Intrinsic as our own, Informing clear,
Integrated, Exclusive in its hold.

(The whole darn operation)

United feels this field of conscious thought,
Though scattered be the brain-realms where it’s wrought;
The qualia of sense-experience shine,
While seamless flows the change that time has brought.

(Perfect Unity!)

How can this ghost of thought move flesh and bone,
When neural deed is done and verdict known
Before awareness breaks upon our shore?
The answer in time’s sequence lies alone.

(Nah, it doesn’t; the brain does it)

Yet Consciousness brings gifts beyond mere scheme
Of reflex-action’s automatic stream:
Flexibility to shape reaction’s course,
And Focus sharp on what we vital deem.

(Exclusion)

It grants Evaluation’s weighted scale,
Where logic, feeling, neither can quite fail;
For Survival it opens pathways new,
Where Complex choices might yet prevail.

(Evaluation)

Through Learning’s endless combinations bright,
We weave perception’s threads in fresh delight;
Discrimination’s finest differences show
Which fruits bring health, which hold destruction’s bite.

(The will is dynamic)

In Evolution’s grand unfolding play,
It spurred the Cambrian dawn of nature’s way;
Made predators grow keen in cunning’s art,
While prey found newer paths from day to day.

(The explosion)

See Beauty bloom in flower’s painted face,
As plants evolved their pollinator’s grace;
While minds could ponder action’s consequence
Before commitment to time’s embrace.

(Actionizing)

Reality stands firm beyond our sight,
Our senses taking in its waves of light;
The Brain paints useful faces on these waves—
Makes color from mere frequency’s delight.

(Just three proteins in the eye rotate according to
the amount of the three primary colors)

When drugs or sleep or trauma’s sudden blow
Disturb the brain, consciousness sinks below;
Change neural paths, and mind must follow suit—
For only from the brain can awareness flow.

(Consciousness is a brain process reflected)

We often miss the sea in which we swim,
Mistaking thought-stream’s contents, fleeting-dim,
For consciousness itself that bears them all,
Like water bearing leaves on ocean’s rim.

(The Sea in which we See)

Behold Consciousness in all its parts,
How structured layers form from scattered starts;
Each distinction clear as mountain streams,
Yet flowing to one sea of human arts.

(Distinction par excellance!)

First mark how Composition builds its throne
From many elements, not one alone;
Like letters forming words, then sentences,
Till meaning rises from the parts well-shown.

(A kind of consciousness’ alphabet unto literature)

As bricks and mortar rise to mansion fair,
So consciousness builds castles in the air;
Each phenomenal distinction placed
With architect’s precision, layer by layer.

(What a filmmaker!)

Intrinsic next, as personal as breath,
As intimate as life, as close as death;
No borrowing this sense of ‘only mine’,
This ownership no other self can theft.

(Yours alone)

Independent it stands, yet bound within,
Like sovereignty that needs no foreign kin;
A kingdom of the self, complete and whole,
Where every thought knows where it should begin.

(King of the World)

Then Information flows, precise and clear,
Each detail rendered faithfully sincere;
No vague approximations cloud this lens,
Each particle of thought crystal-clear.

(Extreme clarity)

Particular and specific it stays,
No general musings cloud its focused gaze;
Like archer’s arrow seeking only one
Sweet target through perception’s misty haze.

(Focused)

Integration weaves its seamless whole
From scattered threads of being’s varied scroll;
Though brain-regions far and wide contribute,
One unified experience is their goal.

(All for one)

No longer can this wholeness be reduced
To simpler parts, once unity’s produced;
Like water from its elements combined,
A new thing altogether is induced.

(True emergence? Or Fundamental?)

Exclusivity sets boundaries clean:
No more, no less than what is truly seen;
Each conscious moment perfectly defined,
No fuzzy edges blur what contents mean.

(Nothing extra)

See how Mental Unity holds its ground,
Though neural sources scatter all around;
Like many instruments in symphony,
Creating one magnificent sound.

(The Magnificat!)

The brain’s divided regions all conspire
To forge one field of consciousness entire;
Though specialists in different corners toil,
One unified experience they inspire.

(What a symphony!)

Then Qualia paint their colors rich and strange,
The felt-sense qualities that ever range
From red of rose to taste of morning dew,
As consciousness gives meaning to each change.

(Physical neurological to experiential qualia)

These qualities that only minds can know—
The sunset’s beauty, coffee’s warming glow—
Are consciousness’s artist’s palette pure,
From which all lived experience must flow.

(All one ever encounters is the inside of the head)

Continuity then stitches time’s swift stream
Into one flowing, ever-changing dream;
Though moments pass like birds across the sky,
Their passage forms one motion, or would seem.

(A great video editor)

No gaps appear within this seamless flow,
Though consciousness must come and sometimes go;
Like movie frames run swift before our eyes,
Create illusion of continuous show.

(Very high sight resolution, at least in the center)

Each aspect thus contributes to the whole
Of consciousness’s grand, mysterious role:
Compositional, Intrinsic, Informed,
Integrated, Exclusive in its soul.

(Therein lies it nature)

Together these create the mirror bright
In which the world reveals itself to sight;
Though physics charts the cosmos vast and deep,
Consciousness alone can hold its light.

(Ah, light within a dark head)

The brain translates raw reality’s face
To sound and color, taste, and touch’s grace;
Consciousness mirrors brain-activity,
As neural patterns weave through time and space.

(It paints a better more useful face)

From nerve to spine to brain’s encrypted code,
Consciousness threads throughout its whole abode;
A way to act within imagination,
Before committing to action’s road.

(From the nerve spindles everywhere…)

While Physics charts external cause and rule,
Consciousness exists as nature’s jewel:
Intrinsic, whole, composed of many parts,
Yet unified beyond reduction’s tool.

(Seems irreducible, perhaps fundamental)

It serves distinction’s evolutionary need,
Though causing naught save in its own thought-deed,
For being, not for doing, is its realm,
While intelligence guides action’s seed.

(It appears to exist only for itself)

The posterior cortex holds the key,
For only here must consciousness still be;
With feedback loops that bind the fragments whole,
Creating unity that lets us see.

(Feedback ‘magic’)

This wholeness forms consciousness direct and clear,
A process fundamental, nature’s peer;
Or else it speaks the brain’s symbolic tongue,
Translating neural code to meaning near.

(Are qualia the language of the mind?)

This Whole speaks outward, sharing mind with mind,
While brain-states learn what consciousness designed;
So subconscious regions can then know
The unified awareness thus defined.

(A global broadcast?)

The brain’s grand theatre stages its display,
While consciousness arrives too late to sway
The plot already written, yet feels real—
Director of a film from yesterday.

(Seems to be happening live)

And thus we end where first our tale began:
In brain’s deep halls where consciousness first ran,
A process bound in flesh, yet seeming free,
Reflecting on itself since we began.

(Consciousness evolved)

Consider now Time’s arrow and its flight:
How consciousness lags reality’s height;
While neural networks race beneath our view,
We float upon their wake in conscious light.

(Skiing like)

Each moment that we think we’re choosing new
Has already been settled through and through;
The brain decided ere we knew to choose,
Our feeling of free will a time-skewed clue.

(The fixed will of the instant)

Like ripples spreading on a neural pond,
Each thought-wave touches shores that lie beyond;
The conscious mind may claim to rule alone,
Yet unconscious depths hold wisdom’s bond.

(In the repertoire)

In dreams we glimpse this truth most clear of all,
When consciousness lets its firm barriers fall;
The hidden brain spins tales we think we guide,
While neural pattern-makers weave our thrall.

(As well was from brain ‘noise’)

Mark how the senses each their tale relate:
Sight, sound, and touch combine to integrate;
Yet consciousness binds all to unity,
Though scattered brain-realms must collaborate.

(The orchestra plays as one)

What seems a single stream of thought sublime
Is orchestra of brain-realms keeping time;
Each player adds its note to consciousness,
Till harmony emerges from their chime.

(Conducting itself like a band)

When damage strikes some portion of the brain,
See how consciousness shifts its domain;
Like water finding new paths to the sea,
Neural plasticity rebuilds again.

(Consciousness directly reflects the brain)

In meditation’s deep and centered space,
We sometimes catch consciousness face-to-face;
The watcher and the watched at last revealed
As brain-processes moving through their grace.

(Remove thoughts; meditation is not what you think!)

Each qualia—each taste of wine or tea,
Each sunset’s glow, each song’s sweet melody—
Emerges from the brain’s translation true
Of raw reality we cannot see.

(Phenomena from Noumena)

The hardest problem still remains unsolved:
How neural fire to conscious thought evolved;
What bridge connects the objective brain
With subjective experience resolved?

(The Hard Problem)

Perhaps we seek a ghost that never was,
Questioning consciousness and all its laws;
When brain-process and awareness merge as one,
The mystery dissolves without a cause.

(Basic property?)

Yet still we feel the weight of being here,
Of knowing that we know, of thinking clear;
Though consciousness arrives a moment late,
Its presence makes our human nature dear.

(Second level view of first level thought)

When Memory opens up its golden door,
Consciousness weaves past moments as before;
Yet what we think we purely recollect
Is reconstruction from the neural store.

(Prions hold memory stable, yet it can fade/change)

Each reminiscence that we hold so true
Is fabricated, mixed, and born anew;
The brain invents to fill each memory’s gaps,
While consciousness presents the seamless view.

(Can change from being accessed)

In Sleep’s dark realm, see consciousness transform,
As neural patterns shift from waking norm;
Dreams rise like bubbles from the depths below,
While reason’s captain sleeps amid the storm.

(The brain is not fully functioning)

The Child’s mind shows consciousness unfold,
As neural networks worth their weight in gold
Build representations ever more complex,
Till self-awareness blooms from patterns old.

(Linear details scanned; overall view done in parallel)

Mark how Attention’s spotlight roams the stage,
Selecting what consciousness will engage;
While countless neural processes compete,
One winner claims the mind’s illumined page.

(Many simpleton ‘minds’ competing for attention)

The Social Brain evolved this conscious art
To model others’ minds and take their part;
Through consciousness we simulate their thoughts,
And navigate the human heart.

(Empathy)

Some say the Self is but a useful tale
That consciousness spins like a ship’s bright sail;
A story that the brain tells to itself,
To chart a course through life’s tempestuous gale.

(Having future is foremost: as survival)

When altered states through drug or trance descend,
See how reality and dreamtime blend;
As neural patterns shift their normal course,
Consciousness follows where these changes tend.

(Faithful mirror of the brain)

The Language centers weave their grammar’s spell,
Creating inner voices that can tell
The stories of our consciousness stream,
Though deeper currents run beneath the well.

(The currents’ result appears as being current)

Consider how Decision’s moment flows:
The brain computes before awareness knows;
Yet consciousness can help set parameters
By which subconscious wisdom makes its shows.

(More, as meaning rumination)

Like fractals building patterns ever new,
Each conscious moment holds a nested view;
The brain creates complexity from simple rules,
As awareness emerges from the crew.

(But a very complex process)

In Evolution’s laboratory vast,
Consciousness proved its worth in ages past;
For those who could model future scenes
Found better paths than those who moved too fast.

(Good, but reactive people may need to slow down)

The Mirror test reveals the self-aware,
As consciousness learns itself to declare;
Yet even this awareness comes too late,
The brain already knowing who is there.

(Only ever the just past is shown; no present)

Some philosophers would consciousness deny,
Call it illusion, or a useful lie;
But process needs no substance to be real—
Ask any wave that moves beneath the sky.

(Daniel Dennett)

The Mystery remains, yet science shows
How brain-process to conscious knowing flows;
Each year we map more territories true
Of how awareness comes and goes.

(Soon, others can read your mind)

Perhaps no final answer we shall find
To bridge the gap ‘tween matter and the mind;
Yet in the seeking lies our nature’s crown:
Consciousness studying its own kind.

(Information is dual as both matter and mind?)

When Artificial Minds begin to rise,
Will consciousness emerge before our eyes?
Or will there only be a zombie’s dance,
Raw computation wearing thought’s disguise?

(Artificial Inteligence)

For how can we be certain what is felt
By other minds where consciousness has dwelt?
The hard problem doubles when we seek
To know if silicon can awareness melt.

(Functionalism)

In Meditation’s depths some masters claim
That consciousness transcends the mortal frame;
Yet every altered state that they describe
Still needs a brain to light awareness’ flame.

(Actually, quietude in ID center and body boundary)

The Quantum theorists would consciousness bind
To wave collapse and measurement combined;
Yet macro-scale coherence can’t survive
In neural warmth of any human mind.

(Need a brain freeze from eating ice cream)

Some see consciousness spread through all that is,
Pan-psychic dreams of universal bliss;
But process needs complexity to rise,
And rocks hold not the patterns consciousness miss.

(Electron thinks: which way should I go?)

When Artists shape new visions from the void,
Is consciousness the master they employed?
Or does it merely watch the neural dance
Of creativity otherwise deployed?

(Are we the dancer or the danced upon?)
(What should I do? The universe does you!)

The Moral sense that guides us right from wrong,
Does consciousness conduct that ancient song?
Or does it only witness what arose
From neural circuits judging all along?

(Nature and nurture)

Consider too how consciousness must grow
Through childhood’s dawn, as neural patterns flow;
Each year brings richer awareness to the mind,
As brain-complexity continues to show.

(Teen-age brains may show some temporary ‘insanity’)

Some species share consciousness with our kind,
While others leave awareness far behind;
The octopus thinks thoughts we cannot know,
While beetles march with simpler states assigned.

(Got to roll that dung!)

In Cultures spread across Earth’s fertile face,
Each finds in consciousness a different grace;
Some see it as the cosmic force divine,
While others mark its neural time and place.

(A soul?)

When Lovers meet and consciousness combines,
Do qualia cross over normal lines?
Or does each brain remain forever sealed,
While empathy suggests deeper designs?

(Yes)

The Future holds more mysteries in store,
As neuroscience opens door by door;
Will consciousness reveal its secrets all,
Or keep some riddles hidden evermore?

(All will be revealed in time)

When Brain-Computer Interfaces bloom,
Will consciousness expand beyond its room?
Or will it stay confined to brain-process,
While external aids play progress’s tune?

(We will become as Large Language models)

In Aging’s slow descent we sometimes find
That consciousness grows dim as neurons bind;
Yet wisdom often deepens with the years,
As if awareness grows more refined.

(The wise old man or woman)

The Social Web that links all human minds
Creates a meta-consciousness that binds;
Yet each brain holds its private theater still,
While sharing what the conscious mind assigns.

(Memes)

Perhaps in Time we’ll map the neural code
That gives rise to consciousness’ episode;
Yet knowing how may never tell us why
Awareness lights the brain’s abode.

(Quantum mental fields?)