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Ether

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Back when I was a child, ether was used as a surgical anesthetic.

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.

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