Non-ego, void and darkness,
Each one perfect and each self existent.
Yet non-ego must awaken from its deep slumber,
To question Who am I?
This is the birth of ego,
Not necessarily of tragedy.
From this questioning of one’s identity,
Is born likings and aversions,
And a sense of I-ness.
I am this body,
This is my family,
And my possessions,
Funnily it is through this very question,
WHO AM I?
That our very true identity is revealed.
It’s all a necessity really.
The void is perfect,
Yet, there is Matter,
Luminous, celestial objects
Of such magnitude and grandeur
That it adorns the void.
Can the void be perceived?
No it needs the effulgence to be known.
How else will the void communicate with us?
How else will it be translatable for our feeble minds?
We can never grasp this cloak of voidness,
As nothing in its purest essence can exist
In our mind’s eye tainted.
Yet, there is a craving, a yearning in our depths,
For something pure- beauty, truth.
Do we have any place in this cosmic pantomime?
In the improvisation of the real reality?
Maybe we’re here to witness the glory unfold before us?
The essence of darkness is absolute light.
It’s the state of absolute rest.
Dark is the womb,
Dark is the state of anything in creation,
Tranquillity, nothingness, Sunyata, emptiness, the dark beings.
Dark is a soothing potion for our minds,
But light must appear in it,
Just like a flower which must die to become a fruit.
Darkness must obliterate itself to be born as light.
Abstract space is dark and aye, is not its beauty inexplicable?
My Kali is black, the very epitome of the dark.