An Inquiry into the Texture of Experience
and the Plausibility of Reincarnation

Awareness flashes forth from waking dreams –
A peek-a-boo of sun among the clouds.
Music’s mystery, too, has softs and louds –
My consciousness, more fractured than it seems.

When barely small, I formed the concept ‘mother’
Abstract from intermittent smells and touch,
And then my precious self, another such
constructed separation from ‘the other’.

My isolation and the dread of death:
not the human fate, but mere illusion.
The goals I set myself in such profusion:
each a meditation on the breath.

If only I might fathom where I’ve been
when, bridging deaths, I wake in different skin!