The One About Total Ego Death

my arms extend from my body at every conceivable angle, simutaneously –
infinitely repeated and overlapping pinwheel blades.

as i twirl through a blinding void of silent cacophony
a million million fingers stretch,
with straining joints, to their very limits:
their tips grazing along the silken fabric of (nothing/everything)

like gyroscope needles sliding across a thousand billion pages,
each page spinning independently along its individual axis –
they cut bright lines across the space;
creating a gracefully curving intersecting latticework of light.

i die a hundred trillion deaths,
and experience every one of a coinciding number of births –
each full and resplendent with the fear and joy
and anguish and pain due to it.

like a flower endlessly blooming fresh petals
outward from its bright and heatless center
and shedding them from its outer edge.

the petals fall away and dissipate into the void,
only to coalesce anew and be drawn once more upward
to bloom fresh from the center of creation.

to stretch upward and reach outward
as they travel across its surface
to the outermost edge
where they reenact their withering death.

it is all one endless motion.