Nothing: all quiet when no thoughts arise.
No breath — no in and no out. In the spline
of self contracted beyond shuttered eyes.
No before, no after, no flux of time.

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

When perceived in an instant slips away,
Faster than the gilt-edge of dawning light.
Or life's passage at the end of our days.
Everything is outside, nothing in sight.

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

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

(CC) reserved by Simon Pockley [contact] (CC) [contact]