The universe exists because of us.
Our love for these dreamy forms
fashions and sustains it.
We can touch, stare, flow into anything
as light flows into itself at dawn, at dusk.
We can stand before the mirror and imagine
that the one who’s looking back is us.
This is the great mystery of dreaming,
a mystery play in which everyone
earnestly plays their own part.
Sometime, in a time within all timelessness,
we may awaken in the midst of dreaming
to find that there is only dreaming —
we’ve only awoken in a dream.
We’ll laugh or cry or write a poem
but nothing can explain it.
There’s nothing to explain.
Here, within this endless dreamscape,
we somehow seem to meet again and again,
approaching each other with tremendous desire,
and with our dream hands, reaching out to touch.
At such a touch, the water ripples out in circles,
distorting the image for which we reached.
We see at last there is no other —
all praise to you, Supreme!