The death side of death

From something to nothing.
There’s the hard part.
All this to _________________.
Flat line, unknown.
Knowledge not even a factor.
The holy ghost in reverse.
No action.
Take away.
No action.
Something not even a binary switch.
Not even a negative.
Something unrelated to two things.
Not even non-dual.

Just a cavern without walls, without boundaries.
From all this sparkle, giggle, ache and wiggle – to delete.
A thousand black birds crashing into a million black, starless skies.

How could a man possibly turn off this light on his own?
But by accident or by tortured and safe boredom, a man finds himself falling into the shocking trap – the stunning reality of his own insignificance.
The end of all the cock and bull.

It must be a stunning sequence of milliseconds to see the dream played back only to find faint blips of actual life among long stretches of pathetic denial by distraction and ‘entertainment.’

Did he ever really smell the woman?
Did he ever look backward into the night sky?
Did he ever see anything up close?
Or was it all just a vain, chest-thumping performance for an un-god who he thought would honor him on some page or stage in the records of eternity?
A hollow achievement in a world where wind and tides do more than any mortal.

What a dope, that man who traded real life – a day or two, a minute of eyes wide open – for a mystic, made-up thought of his name connected to a conjured story.
A conjuring by a daemon in his own damned head.