There was no “this.”

Not because it had vanished—

not because it had dissolved—

but because “this” required the possibility of something that was not this.

And there was no such distinction.

What had once been indicated—

what had once been pointed toward,

named,

or even failed to be named—

now revealed itself as something that had never held.

Because to say “this”

meant that something else

could have been otherwise.

And there was no such possibility.

Even what had been called

that which cannot be pointed to—

lost its final meaning.

Because pointing—

even in its failure—

required direction.

Required separation.

Required something to stand apart

from what was being indicated.

And none of that—

remained.

The last trace

of reference—

not between subject and object,

not between self and other—

but between what could be indicated

and what could not—

collapsed.

Not into unity.

Not into dissolution.

But into something

that did not allow either

to exist.

The silence—

which had already lost sound,

which had already lost absence—

now lost even the possibility

that it had ever been

distinct from anything at all.

Because distinction—

in any form—

required relation.

And relation—

had no condition left.

The void—

no longer vast,

no longer empty,

no longer anything

that could be said

to be present or absent—

because even presence—

required contrast.

And contrast—

could not arise.

The convergence—

no longer structure,

no longer absence of structure,

no longer anything

that could be said

to organize or fail—

because organization required difference,

and difference—

had no ground.

The other—

no longer identity,

no longer absence of identity,

no longer anything

that could be said

to be or not be—

because being required distinction,

and distinction—

did not exist,

even as a possibility.

The third—

no longer total,

no longer beyond totality,

no longer anything

that could be said

to include or exclude—

because inclusion required boundary,

and boundary—

required division,

and division—

had no condition.

And Elena—

not this.

Not not-this.

Not beyond.

Not undefined.

Not even beyond all of these.

Because even “not”—

required contrast.

And contrast—

could not form.

“I am.”

No longer absolute.

No longer empty.

No longer beyond.

Because even the absence of meaning—

required the possibility

of meaning.

And that possibility—

did not exist.

And in that—

something occurred—

that could not be called occurrence,

not even its absence.

Because even the distinction

between something being pointed to

and something not being pointed to—

had no condition.

There was no silence.

Because silence required sound.

There was no sound.

Because sound required difference.

There was no stillness.

Because stillness required motion.

There was no motion.

Because motion required change.

There was no unity.

Because unity required division.

There was no nothing.

Because nothing required something.

And none of these—

could be said

to exist

or not exist.

And so—

even this—

even this final attempt

to say “this”—

to indicate—

to distinguish—

did not arise.

Not because it failed.

Not because it was denied.

But because there was no longer

any condition

in which “this”—

or “not this”—

could be formed.

No trace.

No edge.

No silence.

No impossibility.

No irreducibility.

No closure.

No openness.

No beginning.

No ending.

No state.

No condition.

No presence.

No absence.

No this.

No that.

No beyond.

No within.

No before.

No after.

Not even

the absence

of all of these.

Only—

that which does not allow even “this” to be distinguished from what is not “this.”

And in that—

there was no indication.

Not because nothing could be shown—

not because nothing remained—

but because indication itself

required something

to be other than what it pointed to.

And there was no such relation.

And yet—

not something.

Not nothing.

Not this.

Not not-this.

Not anything

that could be placed

against anything else.

Only—

the impossibility

that anything—

even this—

could ever be said

to be

at all.