Warm sun comes up, I’m the dewdrop, shining. Give me life Wind picks up speed, I’m the fallen old leaf, withering. Take me far away Ocean waves creep in, I’m the shiny sea shell, lost. Turn me into sand Stars are shining, I’m the firefly, blinking. Show me the way Fire blazes in fury, I’m the grand old tree, dying. Turn me in to ashes This dream is crumbling, I’m the fear that grips, haunting. Wake me up!
Sun down on the western horizon, birds fly fast, home bound. Wind holds a breath, trees stand still, no words spoken. Bats fly the other way, few owls start the day’s rush. Hush now, listen to the silence. Can you hear the secrets spoken? I stand in awe of it all, witnessing the twilight’s arrival. I see the grace of time in these moments, stood still.
I've heard that the universe unveils its raw truth at sunset, but only for the briefest instant in the dance of twilight. You may glimpse it and transcend, but only if you are ready.
Among seekers of irrational truths, it has become an open secret. Many have tried to capture the moment. Some even claim a glimpse, perhaps. But the whole spectrum? No one yet. And the harder one tries to grasp it, the greater the chance of madness.
Folks have written poems, stories and parables about this moment. An apparition, a subtle flash, a gentle ripple. Each tries to point toward it, yet no direction can be found.
Then, is it just a myth? A folktale, a children’s story, perhaps? Not at all. You can work toward seeing it yourself by shedding one fixed pattern at a time. They say the first step is to think beyond the language, to see without the light, to hear without the sound, and to feel without the touch. The greatest obstacle, of course, is the mind.
Have you ever seen a rope turn into a snake, only to become a rope again in the moonlight? Have you sat in a moving bus, closed your eyes and imagined the bus running backwards, until you could not shake the sense that it truly was? Have you ever predicted an unannounced arrival of a friend with perfect accuracy? If so, you may already have the faculties to build upon.
But from here, the elders say, it only grows more absurd. Irrational questions to ask. Impossible acts to master. Unbelievable events to witness.
Have you ever sought a friend as the owls do?
Have you felt the rhythm of a firefly?
Have you ever felt the friendliness of the ocean?
Can you speak to the Sun, hear the cry of the Earth, or love the Moon as your own?
I know not the answers, I know not the way. I know not if I ever will.
Until then, all I can do is whisper “What a beautiful sunset” under my breath as the twilight fades away, never knowing when I missed the moment where it all made sense.
I wonder what lies on the other side of that moment.
There are only two, I and then you. I've found pieces scattered across time that resemble me. Funny shapes, known tropes, some placed on a pedestal, others hidden right behind. But was it really me? One slips away when the other is chosen. A form never complete, only traces. Echoes of doubt about the permanence of these familiar fragments. Is this truly me? So, there are only two. You, and who? Now I stand naked, a faint outline, forever in flux, surrendered to the search for a sliver of curiosity, one that reveals the sculptor, I, molding an honest shape of me Now, There are only two: I, and then you.