…multifold, dense, indistinct,
…pushing upward, collapsing inward, twisting in all directions at once;
…fumes wafting off of semi-solid emotion;
…tangled with tendrils of mind and meaning….
there is no rising above it,
no wrapping consciousness around to contain it, like Ganesha swallowing a flaming demon.
There is only diving to the center to be consumed in its black fire
among the other charred structures of self,
like skeletal wreckage rusting on the sea floor,
obstinately solid, and made more so in the witnessing.
Who is seeing this?
Who is the witness patrolling it all in a diving bell,
seeing all and engaging none with the eyes behind my eyes?
who lets “me” wallow in squalor, impervious and yet pervasive,
who fills the depths, surrounds, and every space between with the silent sound of Presence
…and an invitation to the party of which I am guest of honor but not dressed to attend.