Ego Death, Softly

Do not over fret;

it is only ego death,  

that paper‑thin monarch  

screaming like a tyrant  

while wearing a cardboard crown.  

It is only the thing  

pulling your fear‑strings,  

a puppeteer made of smoke,  

a shadow convinced  

it is the sun.  

Breathe.  

Let the colors melt.  

Let the self you cling to  

dissolve like sugar  

in warm cosmic tea.  

For beneath the trembling mask  

is the quiet, ancient You;

the one who watches  

the watcher  

watching fear.  

And when the ego falls away,  

it does not shatter.  

It sighs.  

It loosens its grip.  

It thanks you  

for finally letting it rest.  

So do not over fret.  

Step through the dissolving doorway.  

The universe is not ending;

only the part of you  

that thought it needed to be in charge  

of everything.  

And what remains  

is spacious,  

luminous,  

laughing.