A SORT OF DESINTEGRATION

The short story of a dying ego

Wise men say the ego does not die.
It dissolves.

Mine is still here,
but life has pushed me into the vicinity of a black hole of consciousness.
A one-way journey, spiraling through years under a deep and silent attraction.
Life outside the loop now looks like a carousel accelerating:
more distant, more blurred, less real.

The ego is disintegrating slowly.
Fragments still cling to the dancing core, but their fate is no longer a mystery.
They have become useless.
Not broken, just deprived of energy.
No longer fed in that old parasitic way.

One question remains:
What happens when you cross the singularity or whatever lies beyond the event horizon?

No status.
No money.
No power.
No greed.
Nothing the ego used to play with.
Not even the subtle smile of spiritual superiority.

Only this:

To be
like a naked newborn
in a material world.

Here I go,
for one more round.

Sleepless and tempted.
Quiet and surrendered.