Here I sit at the camp site next to my tent. It's a brisk autumn night and everyone is asleep but me. I can hear them breathing heavily as they dream, and I wonder briefly about what they might be dreaming about.
I imagine that they have found themselves in a place that sharply contrasts where we are in reality. They must be in a lush, warm, green field. The sun must be out and shining brightly through a blue sky. Some of them might be running and playing, while others might be sitting and enjoying their day. The breeze is warm and pleasant, cooling them down ever so slightly. They must be so happy while assuming everyone around them is also happy and smiling. They can see forever if they stand on one of the tall hills that pepper the landscape. They are free to spread out, because everyone is safe and nothing is dangerous. I can almost see them smiling as they dream in their tents.
A hard, cold wind snaps me back to reality. Here, it is dark beyond the fire. The biting wind originates in the shadows beyond the fire's reach and taunts me. I can hear it screaming as it races at me through the trees. Here, it is hard to see even thirty feet because the trees are so clustered. Dirt and dead leaves make up the ground that we set up on, and everything is cold and damp. We sleep in tents close to each other to overcome the fear of being separated. There are no clouds in the sky. The moon is out and bright, but exactly half is visible. It's impossible to tell if it is waxing or waning. Even though everyone is asleep near me, everything feels isolated. Even the noises of nature that I can hear are groups of sounds that originate together, without me, somewhere where I am not. The others are warm in their tents, and I am not. They are sleeping; I am not. In their mind, they are in a better place.
I am not.
I am exactly where I am. Both in my mind and in reality. My problem lies in not knowing where I am headed next. Am I going to go back into my tent, or am I going to stay outside? Answer-less, I remain stagnant. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way I'm going.
Just like the moon.
The moon seems to be surrounded by stars and planets, but it is only an apparent closeness. In reality they are far away, and the moon remains isolated and cold. I look up at it- It is still exactly half visible. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way it's going.
I turn my attention to the fire. We forgot to put it out before heading to bed, but I wish it was warmer and fuller. It has been reduced to embers gasping for life. I look at the dull orange light that it is emitting and remember what it used to be like. It used to be proud. There used to be motion and life within it. The flames danced on the logs, using their energy to create more energy- feeding itself. It used to be infectious, too, sending ashes out to spread more flames around. We used to have to actually restrain the fire, digging a pit for it and brushing the dead leaves away- Isolating it.
But that is no longer reality. Here, the bitter winds have battered the fire, and the dampness has starved it. The darkness is compressing it. The fire is now a group of embers clinging to whatever they can hold. I stare at them; they still emit the same dull orange light. As another strong wind races by, I note that at least the embers are not cold.
I am.
The wind rushes me back to reality again. I notice how cold it is outside and think about reaching for a blanket. I don't move though, I just sit still, remaining motionless. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way I'm going.
Like the fire.
I look back to what's left of the fire. The embers are still in their pit, glowing faintly. The fire is no longer dancing, just unmoving as it continues to emit an unwavering and unchanging light. Will it die out, or rush back to life? Answer-less, it remains stagnant. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way it's going.
I am still sitting outside my tent, wishing I could be in the others' dreams. I long to be elsewhere, where I can be warm again. I want to feel the rush of life as I roll down a hill of soft, green grass, and as I stop rolling, I want to be able to look up at the sky. There are no worries where I picture myself. Where I wish I could be, the wind is friendly and soft. I want to feel the freedom to spread out without the fear of separation. I want to be able to stand on the hilltops and see forever. To see what comes next.
Here, that is not possible. In reality, I can't see past the seemingly endless darkness and rows of trees. There is no green field, there is no blue sky, and it is cold. But my longing to be in the others' dream world sparks a thought in me.
I am not
Just like the moon
I am
Like the fire
Like the moon and the fire, I am stagnant. The fire is neither going out nor getting stronger. The moon is neither waxing nor waning. I sit, unable to decide to go in my tent or to stay outside. Also like the moon and the fire, I am isolated. The fire is by itself in a pit although it tried reaching out, the moon is by itself in space although it seems like there are planets and stars surrounding it, and I am by myself although the others are asleep close by. Just like the moon and the fire, I am isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way I'm going.
But unlike the moon, I still have hope. Nothing can reach the moon, not even hope, because it remains stagnant. That is why it is so cold- the moon's stagnation is what's keeping the moon in hopeless isolation; it can't bring itself to move towards the Earth or the Sun. But, oddly, the fire remains warm because the embers remain stagnant. Because the embers are so unchanging, it keeps the fire warm and keeps the possibility of returning to unity and motion alive. The moon is cold, the fire is warm. I am cold, but could be warm. I can choose to be like the moon or the fire. I remember:
I am not Just like the moon. I have hope, and because of that hope, I am Like the fire.
I stand up and return to my tent, leaving the embers burning in the pit. Maybe, Like the fire, the stagnation in my life has been what's preserving me. And maybe a fresh gust of wind will breathe new life into me and allow my stagnation to be set aflame. Just Like the fire, I will be able to use the flames to create motion in my life once again.
