This is it
I went for a sort of swim
floating
in Nothingness:
- stepping out of the clothing of custom
into the only shamanic skin:
into a dumb, numb holding tank
of unlit water and air.
All sensations denied
apart from breathing - in and out,
something rising, falling rhythmically.
No sound, no sight, no edges,
stripped of all bodily awareness
- tipping off the ends of infinity
into utter emptiness.
Where luke-warm, saline water
and my - hypothetical - alkaline blood
interface. blend, become...
...pure consciousness, revealing
the eternal I.
A kindof living dying.
Not out-of-body, out of this dimension
but in and through, despite.
The blackness, an amorphous un-thing
in itself
wherein thoughts, images swirl.
Waking dreamscapes.
Easy to grasp how worlds are created
- out of the Void.
Be.
Be no thing.
Except for that breath
and a booming pulse,
like torrents rushing in shapelessness
telling the remnant incarnate bit
this is IT.
When poles flip, dimensions shift
when respiration and pulse cease
Time itself - the smooth flow of sequence
steps outside itself,
thru’ landscapes of Dante and Goya’s
under/inner-zones of the collective;
the alternate archetypal Bardos.
Across the river, Lethe.
Amen. Then it is done.
Jan.