We studied the maps, we all agreed on a plan,
and as soon as we embarked on the mission
we immediately forgot everything.
Here, nothing seemed to make sense, the signs
pointed in every possible direction, we were
on our own without guide or compass.
How were we to know that this was the plan,
to be left like a small gift from the light
at the gates of the oncoming night?
Darkness is infinitely alive, delicious, ominous,
and yet by itself, it is completely meaningless.
It relies on us to give it purpose. Without the actors,
it is merely an abandoned stage in an empty theater.
It needs our light so that it can know what it truly is,
behind the shadows, behind the ebony facade.
Likewise, light may illuminate the darkness,
but to itself, what is it? Is it even light?
Often, our words are symbols standing between
us and the reality to which they were meant to point.
As much as we may identify ourselves with light,
what a revelation to discover the darkness is also us —
we are the whole thing, that one and only thing.
There is nothing separate from anything else,
nothing outside of ourselves that we can enter
or leave, no object apart from the subject.
Empty and lucid — the mission is simply to be
nothing other than that, the plan is its recognition,
the map is the appearance of the totality, the totality
is nothing but the engaging play of emptiness and lucidity.
One may hear a lot of talk about the essence of things,
but it is really nothing other than this transparency —
this empty and luminous present awareness.
Just so, if I were to exhale, leave this body now,
and rise upward, I imagine that the whole Milky Way —
light and darkness both — would make a little shimmer,
a brief laughing ripple on the ocean of present awareness.