Bigger-Picture
Windows on the world
Poems
Full
Moon ?
(published
in "Full Moon", April 1992)
I watch the full moon rise over the hill.
Gradually, or suddenly, (I’m not sure which)
The landscape is revealed in all its beauty.
The trees are bathed in soft moonlight,
The rocks are ghostly white,
The lake is shimmering as if it were alive.
Just a few moments
ago the lake was dark.
It is surely not the same lake that now looks silver.
Or is it?
And I know that the
trees are green.
The pallid trees in this moonscape
Cannot be the same trees I saw this morning.
Or can they?
And the owl who sits
motionless just above my head;
He was not there before the moon appeared.
Or was he?
The full moon hangs
in the sky, just out of reach.
It is so bright that there are no stars nearby.
Or are there?
The moon is bright.
The landscape is bright.
Yet the light belongs to the sun,
Which I cannot see.
Or does it?
My mind reels with
confusion.
Which is the reality, and which the illusion?
Is everything illusion?
Or are there many realities?
How can I cope with a world
Where reality becomes illusion,
And vice versa?
I take a deep breath.
And suddenly all is clear.
The world does not matter.
I know that I am real,
Stable and dependable,
Despite the world’s confusion.
I breathe in calmness
and serenity.
I breathe out my confusion,
And it rolls across the lake
(Which might or might not be real)
And disappears in the distance.
After a while I look
down.
My hands are silver in the moonlight.
But I know that my hands are not silver,
Are they?
I watch the full moon
rise over the hill.
Or do I?
©
Harvey Tordoff
January 1992