we fling ourselves out into the cold dark night
Into a world of separation, division,
which we strain to overcome.
The moon of truth seems to come and go here
Though far, it still exerts it’s influence
Which we feel in moments, glimpses
Or notice if we watch the waves a while
Though the moon is, like me, only a mirror.
A lone candle seems bright in a cave-bottom.
the moon is an illusion of truth,
the truth is an illusion of another Truth
That which we see with eyes is an illusion of an illusion.
As the brightness of the moon is eclipsed by the sun
So eye-seeable truth is outweighed by higher Truth.
Even these differences too are illusion. These mirages
Are so convincing, we think we drink of them
And are sated. My head repeats these words,
Wanting to think I know this, but that’s not
Where truth-knowing is. Let the water in
And it will wash you. This is it’s gift.
What is mine? I cannot tell you how this poem ends.