I.
At 3 AM, when prayer beads tick like Geiger counters,
my thoughts uncoil—copper-bellied serpents
tasting darkness with forked mathematics.
The mind's eye dilates. Space folds
like origami in reverse.
                          Here: the edge
where meditation meets vertigo,
where breath becomes sine wave,
oscillating between being and void.

II.
Two doors in the skull's quiet temple:
one opens on supernovas blooming like black dahlias,
one on atoms waltzing in their quantum ballroom.
Both lead down labyrinthine DNA spirals
to what we've spent eons fleeing—
that first serpent's whisper:
                               dissolve.

III.
Listen: the sound of synapses firing
like distant stars going nova,
each thought a light echo
bouncing through time's curved throat.
The heart grows dense as collapsed stars,
while dreams crystallize into sacred geometry,
snowflakes falling upward through dark matter.

IV.
Memory: that holographic river
where time swims backward through its own reflection.
I cup moments like bioluminescent plankton,
watch them slip away, pixel by pixel,
leaving ghost-prints on retinal nights.
Each lost second transforms me—
tree rings of light recording
what darkness taught the leaves.

V.
In the space between heartbeats,
neural networks weave myths from starlight,
encoding infinity in finite flesh.
We are legends dreaming ourselves awake,
ancient light translated into carbon,
into stories that birth galaxies
between firing neurons.

VI.
Observe the great devourings:
Universe swallows galaxy swallows star
swallows planet swallows society swallows self—
recursive hymn, eternal return.
Watch consciousness eat reality
eat quantum uncertainty
eat itself, until nothing remains
but foam on probability's shore,
glittering with all possible worlds.

VII.
Deep in the amygdala's forest,
where fear grows like luminous fungi,
I find fragments of cosmic egg-shell,
evidence of what we hatched from.
Each cell remembers its stellar womb,
each atom hums its hydrogen lullaby,
while DNA spells out in base-four code:
you are everyone you have ever been.

VIII.
When Brahman's eye blinks,
superposition collapses into now—
wave functions falling like autumn leaves
into singular moments of being.
Time is a spiral staircase
wrapped around a strand of RNA,
leading both up to heaven
and down to the quantum foam
where angels dance with quarks.

IX.
At the event horizon of ego,
where self meets infinite regression,
I dissolve like a koan in the mind of God.
The observer becomes the observed,
the cosmic dance becomes the dancer,
until there's no difference between
the meditation and the mantra,
the equation and its solution,
the eternal and the now.

X.
All is recursion:
Light waves breaking on consciousness' shore,
consciousness breaking on light's distant edge.
We are the universe's way
of witnessing its own reflection—
billions of eyes opened in wonder,
each pupil a black hole
drawing light into meaning,
meaning into mystery,
mystery into math,
math into music,
music into flesh,
flesh into light.

                    Again.
                           Again.
                                  Again.