Ether

Darkness. Drip. Not absence, but a rarified vastness thick with hush, like a cavern carved behind my eyes. Drip. Drip. Somewhere, water— not seen, just heard, each drop a soft footstep in the void behind me. Concentric rings of silence. And then— a pulsating dot of light. Drip. It grows— breathes— radiates outward in color— rings blooming from the dark like ripples in a pond no stone ever touched. Drip. And then there was no difference between the rings and me— no watcher— no watched— only light, arriving from within and without. No fear. No body. Only the warmth of being, the ease of breath, and wonder— vast and unasked for. I become the light.