There's a level of commitment to a practice, absolution in approach, that causes a thinning-off effect: on one side of the dice, an entire world is opened, where limitless possibilities blossom in an endless escape of options; bright light shines through it as as spot is shone upon and finally illuminated after so much mystery. Yet you know there is more. Always more. For the opening is simply a crack in the wall; a tip of the iceberg. Behind the crack lies more cracks that open, one into the next, into eternity. Fear not as the light will guide you there when time is ready, you are ready, all is ready.
On the other side is the darkness -- the world you leave behind. Here you once were. Yet now you are assuredely not. Remember you might, but try as you will, never the same again is the feeling of this once familiar place. It is distant now, somewhere between the rear-view mirror and the exhaust pipe on the end of your intergalactic space shuttle. It spirals backwards from you as you propel forward into the night.