Dark Moon, we hear You call us
Bright Moon, we call Your Name
Crescent Moon, we sing with You
Crescent Moon, we sing with you
Ivo Dominguez, Jr.
In the sky tonight, the moon is waxing, but the cloth insisted that it be a waning moon. You can’t argue with the cloth. It knows about the time for letting go and spilling out. The old bamboo basket is falling to bits; it won’t hold anything more. It reminds us of the beauty of impermanence and the folly of attachment. Nothing endures, not even this moment.
If you understand that this truth is beautiful, and not the least bit sad, then you have spent time on a mountaintop, watching the clouds shift and twist, casting strong shadows over the valley. You have known that happiness is found within.
Don’t ask me. I am just learning. The hands stitch, and the heart follows. But the cloth knows.