PASHYANTEE

Let me disappear
like the camphor in a pouch
like the spirit left in a bottle
like lightning, wind or clouds

In a specific sense I see myself existing in separation from the word or Śabda as the source of (all?) light. In a singular sense, however, I see myself moulding my being in its materiality which is definitely visceral and even somewhat dark. Do I then see this darkness also as the locus of my volition or is it still some pre-subjective clearing before one reaches the valley or the pass where one beholds what appear as two landscapes in an imagined separation