New-moon Night and Me

It is a new moon night. A dark veil has descended to envelope the entire creation in it, and I am no exception. Darkness is alone, and so am I, or at least I think that I am. Awareness gained through senses is the only tangible evidence of existence here on this beach. How can the two of us, darkness and me, be alone? Some footfalls are echoing in these pitch dark environs around me. Whose footfalls are these?

Theirs is a unique cadence much different from the rhythmical beats resounding within my being. It took me a little time and a bit of effort to get adjusted to seeing in the dark. Now that I can look around, this darkness doesn’t scare me anymore. It has a glow of its own which reveals the mighty, ever restless ocean in the embrace of dreamy sands. I can now see that other than me, a boat also moored here on this dark and shadowy stretch of the beach. It is also all by itself, popping up and down with waves lapping against its sides. The boatman has moored his boats to the sands and gone home. I wondered where the boatman had come from and where was he headed?

Slowly and slowly, synchronicity between internal and external rhythms is emerging. An invisible musician is conducting a symphony on the sand. The turbulence of waves and tranquillity of sands, the shimmer of the stars, dark sombreness of the night all are notes of the same symphony.

Waves come, arising from the faraway horizon, anoint the sands and return after making an offering of shells to the footprints and snail trails. Although they traverse an endless time and ocean to reach the shore yet the timespan of their stay on the sands lasts for a few moments only. Between the appearing and disappearing undulations, this sandy beach is their most unlikely destination. There are some clouds too gazing at the wet sands. Are they trying to read a story to tell it to the stars? The Sun and Moon had taken turns to write this story along the undulating lines on the sands. Whom can I ask? There is none except sea breeze and the waves lapping against the boat and those arising within me. I don’t want to ask them lest they should get disturbed and lose their intonation and rhythm.

I shall wait for the moon to rise from behind the coconut grove. Yes, it will be a long wait for the moon to mature from just a sliver of silvery glow to a beacon of serene, calming, soothing effulgence. Even that will be not long-lasting because soon after the full-moon night, it will start waning again. Ocean, sky, breeze clouds are all witnesses to this waxing and waning. Waves keep on rising and retreating on the sands; clouds keep on floating, drifting with the breeze and the sky, silent and still, keeps on watching and smiling at all the goings-on. Ocean, breeze and clouds are travellers in the same caravan. It will reach the peaks, traverse the deserts and get the ocean back to the ocean through rain and river.

Stillness engenders all movement, and silence fosters all music, and the light that reveals it all nestles in the womb of darkness.

It will be another new moon night, same darkness, and another waiting will begin.