DYING EACH DAY
Each day,
each day farther away,
each moment in the dying.
In the good death, each day I go
in the disintegration of every limit,
lightening the brain, that soul slipping away.
Among bubbles that leave everything behind,
in that moment of dying,
crossing thresholds,
behind, all is left.
In the miracle
of floating far,
abandoning everything.
Distant, corrupted body,
far from the material, in death,
in that death that is so pleasant.
In those moments of dying,
where everything is sweet,
where I fade away,
where the soul finally flies.
Advancing on the path of dying,
in those moments when one dies,
in that good death, where everything leaves us.
In those waves where everything flows in bubbles,
where we grow dizzy, where we fade,
in those moments when the body stops beating,
when the body ceases to be that burden,
when the soul at last can breathe.
Moments of life,
that dead life
that carries us
to the beyond,
far away.
Mystical:
death to live.
Awakening each day,
awakening to life each day,
after the daily death we live again,
in the joy of life reborn,
in the waves between life and death.
Without fear of experiencing life,
in those waves that carry us,
without fear of anything.