Death Is A Warm Blanket…

You don’t even know you’re born,
Well actually, that’s true,
Because no-one can remember it,
We become self conscious at a few years old.

So why can’t we remember?
Because we are still fully connected,
And are pure universal energy,
Until someone gives us a name.

Drifting into sleep, is our name slipping away,
We commune with our unconscious,
While our name disappears,
And we can regenerate.

Meditation brings us back,
Back to where we were as a child,
The uncarved block,
Energy without a name.

The illusion of ‘self’,
That which is named,
Disappears when we are in harmony,
And communing with that which cannot be named.

The nameless nourishes and replenishes,
It reminds us of who we really are,
It is a place of refuge,
Reminding us from whence we came.

When it is time to return,
Death is a warm blanket,
It is from where we started,
And where we shall return.

We don’t know we die,
Like we don’t know when we’re born,
Like we don’t know when we fall asleep,
Or when we replenish in meditation.

We are born from the nameless,
We return to the nameless,
During life we replenish in the nameless,
Our name and self are illusory.

Death is a longer sleep,
It is a time of nourishment,
The universe regenerates,
And we suddenly appear again.

Once again we don the mask of self,
It is one of self awareness,
It appears and disappears throughout life,
Just for a bit of theatre.

Remember who you are,
What you were as a child,
Where you go in meditation,
The nameless is your real ‘self’.