Sit where the breath forgets its name, and thoughts fall loose like drifting leaves, no self to guard, no prize, no claim, only the hush the still mind weaves.
The body hums, then fades from view, a passing cloud, a borrowed skin, what once was “I” dissolves from you, like distant bells grown faint within.
Let go your tether to the ground, release the weight of want and fear, no centre left, no edge is found, just open sky, just thinning air.
Empty the cup you called your own, let silence drink what words could not, for in that space the truth is shown: you are the space, the fleeting thought.
Like wind that moves yet leaves no trace, no mark to prove it passed this way, so too the self, a gentle grace, arrives, dissolves, and will not stay.
To become nothing is not to fall, nor fade to some forgotten end, but to be everything, and all, unheld, unbound, no need to bend.
So breathe, then let the breath release, no clinging hand, no grasping mind, in losing self you enter peace, and leave the weight of self behind.
And when no “you” remains to cling, nor any “you” to disappear, there is no void, no anything, just quiet wind, already here.