Unsayable Envelope

The envelope of no-thought has decisive form lately, warm, dark, an elegant non-local cavity. I've wondered how this pristine void of sensual nothingness as intimate as a slip has stayed close lately, as if it were dreaming me more than I've been dreaming it. What if you could unzip a pocket of the peace of darkness in the air in the room in front of you and slide into supreme stillness without a shard of me or it, subject or object, confidence or worry, determination or will? How has this happened?

I felt my access to peace would end and in fact I've had a hard day, a bomb of nothing blew up out of nowhere and somehow I lost the therapeutic voice I'd found comforting. This business of talking every little thing through. A nasty comment and I seethed all day, my voice fled to a distant planet. Perhaps this explains the dream I woke up to, of being in a plane plunging to earth. The pilot spoke quietly and contemplatively while we rode the horrible vessel, my daughter and I silently curled together.

I have been trying to recover from a foul energy all day, I wonder what shadow has turned up? Of course I am most concerned with losing my treasure, that warm envelope of conscious unconsciousness, supreme silty stillness, the breath of my heart dusting the pulse of the unknowable. Essence growing richly from the root. I pictured myself in the dark basement room, folding laundry, unable to slip into the darkness, folding sheets. For company I had a candle, and each moment I traced the reality of unknowing with my heart, the flame flew towards me as a luminous butterfly, a new one born every moment my heart turned again to the unsayable opacity that gives organs of light to the word darkness.