In every life there’s a moment or two
when we disappear, the cruel wound
takes over, and then again
at times we are filled with trees
or with birds 
or with polishing the furniture
said the old woman

I know what you mean said the tulip
about epiphanies
for instance a breezy April day
the approach of a butterfly
but as to the disappearing self
no
I have not yet experienced that

You are creating distinctions
that do not exist in nature
where “self” and “not-self” are like salt
in ocean, cloud in sky
oxygen in fire
said the philosophical dog
under the table scratching his balls