The wonderful, vivid mystery of the night
Wants us to love it. The blackbird singing
In the shimmering sigh of evening
Doesn't know the prisons we built
When we set ourselves apart from the clouds
And the dew and the thundering rivers.
If she does, she sings all the same.
The earth goes on, falling in love with the sky
Day after day, over and over again,
Inviting us into the hope of each new sunrise.
The ancient trees whisper their stories
Of Brahma's great eye opening and closing,
Of Indra's jewels glittering away in some
Giant, starry web, and it's a gift, all of it,
Held together by threads of breath and light.
Even if it is all you can do
To breathe, to be, among all this:
The light will find you, dear one, and
You are the opposite of alone.