The Monastery Within

What is feeling without emotion?
Why even the question?
Why not the knowledge,
not necessitating the questioning pose?
Because it is strange, eerie,
and yet beautiful.
Where are my past thoughts, emotions,
sense of self?
Temporarily at least,
they are gone.
From where,
to where,
Certainly I know not.
O Wondrous One,
You have called me your son,
Your Beloved,
Or rather brought me closer
to The One that is such.
As I become more energetic
yet more full of repose
as a cell in his Mystical Organs.
My life feels over,
Or beginning again and again
each new second.
Clarity, in its way, is bizarre--
or perhaps we are so used to the insanity,
sanity seems crazed.
The world is my cell,
Form, materality, my school of service for the Lord.
The fourth wave and beyond,
my cloister.
As removed and detached in its own way,
from ancient walls and arcane hymns.