Nothing: the hush where no thoughts arise.
No breath — no in and no out. The spline
of self contracted beyond shuttered eyes.
No before, no after, no flux of time.

Silence, something vast—not vacant, void.
A potent charge is flooding into me.
Force of presence, thrilling, unalloyed,
Fills my being with brimming clarity.

Perceived, in an instant slips away,
Faster than gilt-edged dawning light.
Or life's passage at the end of days.
Everything outside, nothing in sight.

With these opposing realms so entwined,
Reason dissolves, I am and am not mind.

[Sonnet from a collection by S.C.N. Pockley]

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