sometimes i cast myself back to that night when the thing i so easily named Self was wrenched out through the wormhole of my third eye and all time played out, and all of beingβs wealth
became desert, then black, then red, then white and all knowledge was dust; language, a dream. and something iβd forgotten i was arrived somewhere iβd forgotten iβd always been
and the presence in this place i was not one with nor not one with; all of human categories fallen out from themselves.
impossible moment, i understood my lot: home of the soul, visitor from sand, given a gift: gratitude, in bottomless well.