Samaadhi on the train to Luton Airport
there is this miniscule moment
between Moorgate and Luton Airport Parkway:
you are looking out on the world through a double visor of sunglasses and train window; the late evening sun appears from behind a cumulus cloud and floods across the Bedfordshire flatlands; the sky turns copper and sepia and rust; the fields are a blazing molten brozen
*
you are held there
with all else falling away
you have no name, no position
you have not been to a meeting
you are not going home
there are no sounds in the train
no smells, no commuters
you know no one and no one knows you
you have no past and no future
no bank balance, no politics, no favourite newspaper
no family, no friends
there is so little of you now
your age, your gender
your street address, your race
your nationality, your PIN number, your mobile phone
they're all gone
*
you are weightless
all there is
is the bronze blaze
and the fact of your existence
it is bright, it is all all-consuming, it is perfect