ຄວາມກັບກາຍເມດຕາເອງ

I once saw light. It fell in streams around me. It soaked the air. It’s funny, how hard it is to see – to see what’s always there. It’s funny, the lightness of it, when you see it for the first time, floating still. You can swim through it – become anointed by it.

Light is seen through its absence. You see it because of what it’s not. Shadows bring it out; it shimmers around the edges of change; it glows right where it stops – at the start.

It’s right there. And there I was, looking up at nothing, watching a tree dance before the coming fall. It was between the leaves and not leaves; between the moments branching out to meet the night. It was there, had always been there, and yet I had taken so long to arrive. So long to stop.

When are we us? When we chose. When we split into many, into all that’s possible, and emerge again as one: part and whole. When we stop. When it ends and, upon reflection, we see that we were neither form or content. We were neither parts or wholes. And yet, in spite of all that, we chose and, in choosing, we stop. In that moment when we become both one and many, and only at that moment, are we ourselves.

When was I me? I’m not sure I remember. Maybe that’s the hardest part – holding onto the infinite. The choice is hard, but seeing is harder – harder to carry with us. Maybe I was never me, or maybe I haven’t been me yet. Maybe I once was someone else, true as a brilliant moment, and then faded away… Or maybe, in the purity of full life, he was ripped asunder and now echoes faintly within the light. Maybe that person became real – a truly singular many affirming itself and then,.. But when was I me?

I was not myself when I finally saw what light is. I was the light. To find myself, I have to keep going. I have to stop moving. I have to open – finally – for myself. I need to look to the edges of what I’m not. Where are my moments and leaves and sweetness before the coming rain, right before it falls, striking chords of earth and white and forgotten? When is my choice?

It is there in you. between the movements of you. There is my coda. Right where I shimmer between now and now – between us and I. When, in the self aware fullness of being everything else, I move.

Maybe I am me now, and only now, at every now. Every self that was possible, is one, will end. Becoming in the second I chose now to be everything already gone a new I. 

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