Squashed have I become in the great light
turned into cinder, ash, and smoke
there I see the great soul bearing down upon me
spreading forth its embracing arms
but I . . . I have become nothing . . .
nothing to grasp, nothing to see, nothing to be
what turmoil, what despair, what have I become?
my soul . . . did it ever exist?
in my nothingness I look out
bathing in that great light, it becomes clear
there my soul resides, there it rests, there it has its seat
lost in the glow of the great light