Ego Destroyed

I went away on a human holiday, distant from London's broken smiling slabs. The shore I washed up on was a different world, a silent, night time place, uncluttered, unfiltered.
The place I went has a name but this label chokes in my throat, hardly a representation of the rich picturesque void that now exists in my mind; I shall rename it the blissoramic expanse; a parallel world hidden from the London consciousness, not good/ bad, urban/rural, profit/loss; but a different way of seeing, a suit of different colours, shades and style.
I shrank in its bosom and found myself covered in folds of a gentle unknown skin; the night joined me and my companions down a shadowy road as we walked to a pub 2 miles in the distance. The Drunken Duck Inn has a name and story only real life can create; later that night on the return journey I found myself shouting at the gloom: ‘Who shaved me? Why am I wearing a cardigan?’ in tribute to those legendary ducks.  London was long gone, the darkness the expanse and the audible characters from behind the hedge were all.
As I walked along the empty road I remembered, not an event or a place but a feeling, a solitary fullness, I looked up into dusky sky and it was there, like a warm fleece enfolding. The hills and the trees huddled round and joined my conspiracy. The thrill of being a lone figure in the night, a silhouette, no people for miles around, technology seeming like a strange dream, invisible.
The cool air at my face created energy for the nothingness. The absence of people, judging things, pressuring things, gave everything more life. I saw images in the gloom, shadows come to life, traders, highway men, families heading for the Inn; a timeless invisible history coming from the hedgerows. Everything was smooth and mysterious.
I became childlike, full of inspiration and hope. It wasn’t an epiphany; there weren’t any ecstatic moments, just a long drawn out feeling; no threatening presence, just the wilderness and its dark beyond.
This is the point, as always, that words fail and I have no reason to care, for they are part of the problem. I sank into the rustling, groaning, singing void of the no-thing.
I laughed and slipped between my companions, but, with London, they were long gone, whether they had joined me I’ll never know, but I will follow that path to the pub to the end of the sunset. Ego Destroyed.