I am a wanderer. In the desert I sit, eyes closed, sand blasting at my face. The sun is not present so cannot be hot, but the sting of a million tiny stones can burn.
I must just wait, now lying flat on my back. Against an eyelid I watch a scratched cornea. Meditation becomes of it and I am transported to the place of ages where all is revealed.
I am enveloped. I am buried.