When I
taste of the fear I have already
Ceased to
be something solid or certain;
That self
has yielded to not-self it seems;
Lying
awake my brain far from teeming,
Circling
around emptiness the way water
Dallies
around a drain, drawn inexorably
Onward yet
holding back too, the center
Indistinguishable
from the periphery
Not even
a shoreline that’s visible but
Only an
oceanic sense of non-being;
Then and
only then does a Golden Light
Appear, a
dim beacon in the murk at first
But
gathering in brightness it suffuses me
With a
sense of calm and gives lie to all fear
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