“Don’t rush it,” I repeat the second time.
“Don’t rush what?” you ask with that same tone of hope,
Made of the first words you whispered to me.
No question is more easily answered by silence.
It’s a silence
Found down at the deepest parts of knowing,
To that watchtower from which the see-er sees,
At that point of dense nothingness,
Where nothing begins and ends,
Where everything meets everything else.
This is where the simplest are the all-encompassing.
This is the split-second darkness right before light is born.
There is no rush in the beginning.
Time is yet to exist.