Among the common frauds that trip us up,
spawning endless cycles of restless dreams,
are hope and fear – in other words, resistance
to the way things are, resistance to life as it is.
Resistance to life – wanting it to be different
than it is — generates a serial sense of time
that is first implied by the sense of a self,
which is subject then to the dream called time,
a fickle fantasy the sensed self finds irresistible.
The origin of this crafty fable might be debated,
though what may have begun as an innocent game,
a creative fabrication intended to playfully confuse,
will cease to amuse when we see how we suffer.
Each human mind has its own file of sorrows:
when we suffer, we hope for some happiness,
when we’re happy, we fear suffering’s return.
Tonight, standing in this windless moonshine,
one can feel the intimacy of what persists
beyond the reach of hope or fear.
Just allow it to take you to heart,
to sooth all doubts and apprehensions.
Whenever resistance arises in the mind,
pause for a moment, turn attention around,
look at that mind itself, and inquire:
“To whom?”
It seems that whatever we resist we become,
and then even a sharp sword is to no avail
when one is battling their own shadow.
Without resistance, let’s enjoy the glorious view
from high up on this cold mountain tonight:
the luxurious splendor of a full moon sliding,
playing “hide and seek” with storm clouds,
appearing now when we look its way,
quietly vanishing when we don’t.
Who could resist such a marvelous moon –
light that just wants to play with us,
to outshine our resistance?

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