The Bottom of the Glass
A glass of bubbly champagne,
filled with natural sciences,
can make you drunk
on false knowledge—
the certainty of fools
rooted in the visible world.
If you survive the hangover,
the splitting pressure of illusion,
and the heavy load of matter
does not crush you,
then the deeper view
through the bubbles
of the material world
will suddenly pull you
into a slow, luminous sinking
toward the bottom of the glass,
where yesterday’s champagne
once shimmered with illusion—
mountain tops, Milky Way,
lavish ravines, canyons, tundra.
The world you had seen
in all its magnificent glory
was just a passing mirage
that stood before you,
behind the closed doors
that have now swung open.
The bottomless glass
has its own secret path.
It draws you inward,
spiraling downward,
past the glitter of matter,
past the veil of perception,
into an unknown realm
where light dissolves into silence
and silence becomes the door.
The threshold is dark.
Its ancient force
may pull you back—
that trembling moment
before surrender.
Yet the unknowable world
unfurls behind the veil—
a soft, infinite darkness
and subdued light
you tasted only briefly
when the bubbles burst
and the surface broke.
There, at the bottom
of what feels like an abyss,
God sits quietly—
He is not waiting,
only being,
pure stillness,
as if He has always been
the very center
toward which the descent leads.
He does not call your name.
He does not reach His hand.
He simply remains,
radiant in the darkness,
a presence so vast
it can only be found
by falling far enough
to shed the last veil
of the visible world.
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