I it seems am pathologically existential Mired in the void, between ego and transcendence. It’s lonely here, without a self. In the company of the decaying. Confronted only by fleeting phenomena. The newly born and the dying, no different at all. How I came to be in this sorry state, both above and below, I may never know, and although I have glimpsed the greater inter-connectedness at times, seen Satori, am always drawn back again. By nagging thoughts of ticking hands, of death reaching out always out. Calling me into darkness. Whispering, that nothing that lives In the blink of an eye can ever be but a shadow.