This is where you are asked
To collection your mind’s fragments
Into a quiet pool around silence
Bit by bit let go of grasping
Thought without possession
Attains quantum emptiness
Perched, and perished, hidden
Beneath Paradise, minutes of fresh prey
Where you will not exist
Darting below Creation’s wheel
A hooded comet, God’s pastime
Where no tongue will tell your secret
And no observer clouds your way
It’s a gift to the ear, to make time stop
Even for an instant, resets the brain
The good darkness, deepen it
A candled moth, without half-light
Nigh journey coming closer to God
No poison of desire, no tumult of attachment
No self, no trace of following
Only the listening beyond time and space
Step beyond, be, become, die
Before Rumi, Attar or Sanai
Erase memory to upload nothing.
Wuji Seshat 