The Witness

Praying for death

But I think the death of the ego—

I got the *card* the other day…

The other morning

and instead of activating this paralyzing fear

I remembered that death

Is just a rebirth

A shedding of the past

The freeze or flight

The fawn

A removal of what no

longer serves me

A gentle? Actually, so harsh reminder

That I can always begin anew—

even after what seems like extreme anger and self betrayal…

And then this morning

Another glorious, simple morning

I flipped through this black spiral journal

The one I am writing in now—

And immediately saw that we both

Prayed hard for us— for sweet, sweet death

But also remembering that we can awaken

In this very, 3-D illusory simulation we call life

The veil lifting…

Each sherbet dawn a fresh genesis arisen

An ancient spell cast

Round this flesh body

Always in communal service of

The absolute divine

Even when I think I’m *definitely* not

It’s all just another anti-Kafkaesque metamorphosis

Or peeling of the eternal

Onion to my

Truest self

The purest,


Dwindling down (up?)

To my exact flower essence

In the beauty way—

This death

The witness

I watch it





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