Change

In the play of matter, mind, and dream,
Of finite phantasmagoria,
The vision flickers, shifts
From birth to death,
Dances in between.
We seem to laugh, cry, preen, and pose and ponder,
Dreaming separate self.

In the drama of denial we seek to hold
The other,
Grasp what we desire,
Keep that which we love,
Knowing well the tragedy of change and ending
In the world of form.
We ride the dragon of impermanence.
Leviathan devours all,
And the sea of darkness closes in
Upon our little lights.

Yet there is that great Light
Which is forever radiant
Beaming being of Oneself.
What comedy is this
That wrests from us our knowledge
Of eternal nature
Singular and complete
And sends us on the errand of the Fool?

I am the dreamer and the dream,
I am the ground upon, within which all is laid,
I am the stage
And all the actors who upon it move
I am the play itself.

The pages turn, scenes limned in light and dark,
In joy and sorrow, life and death,
Scenes of awareness,
Memory, and unconsciousness
Moving each and every in their turn
As masks upon the One I Am.

And thus, I am
The ever-constant Change.