How brief our egos,
these separate selves….
Could their exist a state
beyond such transience,
beneath and beyond
all conceivable dimensions,
a state transcending our
awareness
as ours now transcends
that of a microbe?

Such God’s-eye perspective
might see each finite ego as
but a snagged flea struggling
mightily in a web
to save its small life;
for it could realize no higher
existence.

But the mystics see liberation
akin to a spark returning
to its flame…
a raindrop returning
home to the sea….
a crumbled courtyard wall
now letting the sun shine
everywhere without shadow….

The Book of the Dead
speaks of self-liberation as
becoming a sibling of the moon,
a child of the stars,
revolving in the heavens,
rising with the sun….

Perhaps death is merely
a stepping out of time
into an Eternity
beyond what we can ever
conceive….