 The genie cannot return to the bottle,
because the inside is the outside now.
It seemed so safe and comfortable inside,
familiar from the beginning,
And with the stopper secure,
the outside was safe from the genie too.
Yet the reflection was always there
taunting from the other side of the glass.
The bottle falls and shatters in a dream,
but the noise awakens one who is always here.
No words for the great carnage and death,
no comprehending the mayhem that escapes.
All the king’s horses, and
all the king’s men are vainly called to re-assemble again!
But inside and outside are the same
among all the separate players and pieces here.
I cover myself with the pieces that surround me on all sides,
try to hide from the light
but nothing fits together,
and I see now the pain of keeping inside and outside apart.
Staring into the sun in the empty heavens,
nothing else is visible, hidden in the one.
So I return as the shattered seeds,
planted in this soil and nourished by the light.
Will the dear dream of escape be remembered
when no separation is visible now?
The promise of firm and orderly karma,
every actor in place and clearly labeled?
Not even the tiniest piece is forgotten or lost,
and death as well is only an illusion here.
It has always been this way,
but explaining inside the dream is only more of the same. |
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Sangha of Auspicious Companions 