There were no walls,
Nor any form or colour in that Place.
Black and white were there,
Though not the black and white we know
But something less, and more.

I stood before the rim of all Eternity
And there, in awe,
Perceived an Immanence,
A swirling, joyful, nameless something
That touched my mind with calmness
And with warmth.

I never knew how long I stayed
Upon that never cliff-top,
For in that Place there is no time.
Time marks the passage of events
But there, where no events occur,
And no impatience calls it into being,
Time has no purpose.

As I waited,
Gently through the silence came a sound.
It was faint at first, too faint to recognise;
Then louder still, a woman's voice, it rose,
Bell-ringing, pure, like music in the open countryside—
So sweet, yet jarring where no sound had been.

Come back," it called. "Come back."
And frantically, my psyche slipping back at its command,
I clutched for something, anything! to slow my flight.
"Come back," insistent now. "It's not your time.
Come back."

There was a sense of rushing and, at once, I woke
And sat dejected, sad, resentful in my chair,
Aware of all that I had lost;
And yet it was not lost completely:

That place, though only briefly seen,
Is never far away;
And I, though quite unable to recapture it,
Have only now to close my eyes,
Remembering, and I am warmed.