In the silent hours, where the mind strains against the unyielding lattice of habit and the body lies poised between waking and dissolution, a subtle pressure arises, a sense that one is no longer entirely alone within the perimeter of one’s own flesh. This is not the crude apprehension of possession so beloved by the…
There are moments when the soul is pierced by a light that enters through no gate. A realignment; a shift in the geometry of being. The Divine is neither far nor near, neither absent nor wholly manifest. It remains suspended in a distance that gives all things their contour. To contemplate this distance is to…
In the primeval hush where the horizon runs out into the salt-laden emptiness, the desert unfurls as theatre of all possible crossings. Every world tradition, once the surface of things is pierced, preserves the desert as a place where the skin of the world thins and the self is no longer shielded by ordinary veils.…
