187

folded up on my zafu
venus rising, a brilliance
above the coral horizon
where soon the first
radiance of a new day
will emerge

legions of bats, black
against indigo, are
winging their silent way
back to their favorite
over-day treetops

but it’s still dark enough
for my candle to be
queen of the shadows
and she whispers to me:

“If the light of your awareing
wasn’t brighter than my own,
how could you see me?

I am but a shadow-play
of the unviewable, unlit
Light that you are!

Think on this.  And when the
sun climbs over the eastern rim
and reaches into this tiny patch
of sacred space, undressing
the dark,
think on this again.”

– miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness