The fact that I'd undergone a radical consciousness shift began to become apparent only after everyone in the hospital had settled down for the night and I was left awake, feeling as if I'd had enough sleep to last a lifetime. By stages I became aware that when I'd awakened a few hours earlier, it hadn't been from a state of ordinary unconsciousness at all. It was as if I'd emerged freshly made from a vast blackness that was somehow radiant, a kind of infinitely concentrated aliveness that had no separation within it.

That's no mere metaphor for a vague sensation; it was so palpably real that I put my hand up to probe the back of my skull, half wondering if the doctors had sawn part of it away to open my head to infinity. Yet it wasn't in the least a feeling of being damaged; it was more like having had a cataract taken off my brain, letting me experience the world and myself properly for the first time, for that lovely dark radiance seemed to reveal the essence of everything.

Later, when the eternity consciousness continued into the following days, weeks, months, and years, my bewilderment was intensified as I discovered how all kinds of negative human experiences became marvels of creation when experienced by the Dazzling Dark. However, perhaps the most extraordinary feature of eternity consciousness is that it doesn't feel extraordinary at all. It feels quintessentially natural: the realization that I never really left home and never could.
The Dazzling Dark by John Wren-Lewis

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