Going to sleep but still awake,
slipping into a different state,
where words are lost and forgotten,
and never to be found,
a state where the description is the described,
the experience is the experiencer,
but what if there is no experience,
the hand of the mind is at rest,
the soul rests on its nest,
the mind constantly asks "how do you know?"
but I take a step back and say the answer is already known,
without the hypothesis the experiment wouldn't arise,
the question is just a clever disguise,
behind the question is the answer,
they are actually one,
separating the two will only make you numb,
knowing this will derail the the train of thought,
mysticism cannot be taught,
and most of the time it is misunderstood,
a state that isn't tangible like wood,
but it is still felt,
more subtle than air,
more quiet than a mute's whisper,
the path of Yoga is narrow,
many sink, a few make it pass the limbs into the bone marrow,
where you taste its sweet juice,
the science is dangerous and only for the few,
Christ said it straight,
I knew he guided me as soon as I crossed the gate,
May twenty second was when I died,
He brought me back to life...