It seemed to be suspended-
Differences in intensities of sound and light
        appeared to waft back and forth,
Back and forth, like a long-forgotten breeze.
Colours swirled around.
It could not see or hear these things but sensed
        them as changes.
Sounds reverberated, moving to and fro slowly,
        as
As what?
It felt infinite history stretch down the ages of
        its span and involuntarily produced an
        idea
Seaweed, seaweed on a slowly drowning littoral.
It did not know what seaweed was, but what It could
        not hear sounded as
Seaweed should sound.

Information filtered into and out of It.
The intensities of light and sound increased
        and colours cavorted frenetically
It grew more aware of changes within Its invented
        system and need entered for the
First time.
The need to act. But what to do? It did not know.
As contemplation
        or Its equivalent
                took over and
        absorbed It, gradual changes took place
        and the next time It was aware of the
        external system, the system was almost
Not there.

All around It was a lack of -
An absence
A minimum of - a mote of sensation - a new feeling
        was being cultured
A simple distaste, a not liking sensation.
Eternities
Later the sensual things, the light pressures, the
        wavering sounds, the slow slow
        changes in suspension forces re-cycled
It to the once-learnt need to act.

It almost reasoned the required action but arrived
        by micro-cosmic stages at an
Erroneous conclusion - namely
As distaste had been felt
It had changed the external system to remove what had
        caused this feeling.
After all
Had not It invented the system?
History struck again with a dazzling god-like brilliance,
        sound-seaweed broiling and the
        gratifying realisation, in an
        explosion of electrical stimuli
        that
It was in a world of Its own.

It drifted downward -
                downward?
Downward,
        a direction -
It knew It was on Its back, It had a back and a front.
More quickly this time It fell to the zone of not-liking,
        the zone of images, dark views of stifling
        pain, multitudes, chaos -
Cut-price universe - -the hating strata.

It made attempts to move away from the darks,
        the grey-green jeering fancies.
Away from the heaviness and bitter-tasting levels of
        Its world.
It rose speedily to the dancing, singing pinpoints
        of light, of brightness,
        to the lapping sounds and burbles of the
Upper reaches.
Need to act,
                need to act,
                        act now,
                                strike while the iron
Actions speak louder,
                        get out of the hating grey-green
        place and into the light expansive unknown.
Ideas and voices, maxims and words screeched and screamed
        and tossed and turned It like heavy,
        unresponsive dough. They pummelled at Its brain
In a desperate attempt at creation, more like birth
        than resuscitation.
It struggled and thrashed and for one glorious lifetime
        the membrane was ruptured and
It burst into a blazing clamorous light.
A hot-sand wind caressed and teased and space was all hues.
Time - if ever it was, ceased and It soaked all It sensed,
        saw and heard and tasted and smelled and felt all
        in an instant.
The global wisdom of beauty satisfied Its need.