The Night I Lost Myself - March 17 2022

 

The Night I Lost Myself

March 17 2022

The night I lost myself

was clear, dark, and still;

no moon

no artificial light,

no sound or motion

to break the calm.

In a small boat

on the flat lake

as far from shore as possible

I sat, looking up at the stars

crowding the sky

and watched as more and more appeared,

their light

unnaturally steady

in the cold clear air.

And looking down, I saw the same

perfectly mirrored

in the black liquid surface.

An infinity of stars, with me at the centre;

surrounded

by a celestial sphere

that extended above, below, and out to the sides,

until all around the horizon

the circle closed.

Which is when I disappeared.

Escaped my mortal boundaries,

left the earth,

abandoned time.

Felt an inexplicable peace.

And at the risk of being dismissed

as credulous

or too new age,

dare I say

was one with the universe?

Is this how transcendence feels?

What psychotropic drugs

allow us to access?

What the mystics achieve

by means of hard lifelong practice?

To be disembodied.

To have my ego dissolve.

To feel small and large

all at once,

insignificant, and omniscient

and indifferent to the limits

of my own sliver of life.

Which is when my neck started to hurt.

A shooting star flared

upsetting the stillness.

A slight breeze

riffled the surface

and the reflection was gone,

as if the mirror had dropped

face down.

And I was rudely jerked back

to reality.

The damp chilly air

and the ominous dark.

The small shallow boat

rocking unsteadily

so far from shore.