[The following flickering flame was kindly shared with us by Happy Cow's good friend Simon Drew. When he is not busy chastising pirates, Simon can be found levitating clouds, journeying to the centre of the Earth, gambolling naked through endless fields of buttercups and running the online groups English Stuff and International Monthly Hatstand Day. If your candle is still burning, why not leave a comment at the bottom of this page? You can sign in to the comments widget using your Facebook or Google accounts, or just leave a message without signing in. Or just click on the 'Like' button instead. Enjoy!]
Watching a candle bright,
Burning in the deep of night,
And from its light the world I see,
And it seems quite naturally,
All I see is not me.
So then, what is not not-me?
In a breeze, the flame it flickers,
And with it the world comes and goes,
On the wall a gecko snickers,
Again and again, the scroll rolled up and unfurled.
I am not the spark, nor the dousing of the flame,
On not one thing may I lay claim,
Not the darkness nor the light,
Issuing from this candle bright,
Before me in the deep of night.
What was born could not be me,
Not the bird abiding in the tree,
What has a name cannot be free,
So I'm certain they are not me.
I am not the spark of the eternal dawn,
The shards of glass upon the lawn,
Each reflect the sun in their own way,
But will be gone another day.
I am contained by nothing yet I contain it all,
The hardest diamond is made of straw,
And that for which the raven caws,
Is the same knocking upon the door.
This very longing is what I am,
It never stopped and never began,
Years, months, weeks, hours do not persist,
When eyes are turned from the reading list.
No, I am not a thing which can be said,
That leaves me as I lie in bed,
I am life and love and all it contains,
To call me this or that only constrains.
So with candle burning low,
This light will stop, and this world with it go,
No cause at all, least sorrow,
No trail can be found in the falling snow,
And, at last, there was nothing it could know,
These decorations of a mind,
Of course, they fade in the realm of time,
Coming and going were never real,
The ants upon the orange peel,
The trucks on the highway in the night,
The flying fox, in search of fruit, takes flight.
"If you love light, one day you will suddenly recognise that darkness is nothing but a phase of light, a resting phase of light." Osho
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