Before dawn, in consciousness I awake.
At once, sound breaks into the stillness of night.
I lay, hearing the cacophony of cicadas, crickets and frogs,
Orchestrating their songs of eligibility.
Their volumes, rising and vibrating with the tides of the moon,
Deafening in synchronicity.
Chaos and madness it seems at first,
But in composition and orchestration, without masterpiece,
The oscillation of rhythm is to perfection.
The song of millions, thunders through twilight and dawn,
Pulsating the darkest of night,
Leaving no mercy for quiet.
Layers and layers, build upon the soundscape
Of rain, pattering, beating, gushing and pouring.
The sky opens up in glee and delight, in sorrow and dismay,
All at once, flooding the earth to her core,
Drowning all, that comes her way hindering her seeds.
In an infinite cycle, un-ending, she tenders to,
Finding relief in crevices, streams and rivers.
Into the roots of life and veins of blood,
Swelling the paddy terraces, overfilled,
Giving birth to some, bestowing death to others.
Finding routes of release
To flow, down and down,
To the all-embracing River Mardi.
Filling her up from bank to bank,
With voluptuous bursts that tears the seams.
Her cusp, swells with life-giving.
And still, more is to come
As the sky, sheds its tears into the days.
In shelter, the gaze continues,
Wondering if, and when, it would ever end.
With the first glimpse of light anew,
The birds awaken to their choruses.
Thick smoke of leisurely mists roll in and out,
Lingering through the tangible and intangible,
Permeating its presence with every creature and their breath,
Whitewashing the sky, unforgivingly.
Leaving a canvas of whiteness, of blankness, of emptiness,
Erasing all etchings of the boisterous towering mountains,
That, once upon a time, was the feast of the eye.
And now, unseen, its silence almost forgotten,
See not, the sky nor the horizon, for hue there is none.
Only blankets of thick milky swirls and lightness of candy floss
That captures all of the eye, and nothing of the touch.
With nothingness and numbness,
With humility and wilderness,
There, the lightness of being shines.
For then, the enchanting sound of breath becomes,
Inhaling and exhaling with the life-giving trees,
With which we exist not, without their exchange.
From there, there emerge,
The solitude of being. The now.
The oneness, becoming no-thingness.
Beyond thought, beyond words, beyond sound
There is no there, and there is no here.
There is nowhere to see. And nothing to hold.
There is only, now.
To seize that very moment of now,
Consumed in the grasps and whispers of nothingness.
Wanting to contain the fleeting moment in a jar,
And treasure it akin to captured fireflies.
But now, is already gone.
Now, passes through the air, and through me.
Dissolved, dispersed, distant and just a memory.
To hold now, is to hold mist.
To capture now, is forbidden by its nature.
It slips away, unassuming in its timelessness.
And there, lay bare and vulnerable,
In fullness, and emptiness,
The state of being,
To just, is.