63 Sleeping under the Sky
For most of the rainy season I slept on the verandah of my kutir, which certainly would not have been possible if it had been raining with any degree of consistency. It was wonderful to be so close to nature even at night, with the silhouettes of the trees in the garden and the orchard beyond, and with the special sounds and the atmosphere that accompanies the nighttime. To sleep beneath the vast expanse of the heavens feels very different indeed from sleeping between four walls.
Being outside meant that I was able to follow the moon through the watches of the night, and the days and the weeks took on a different quality altogether when they were being measured in relation to the waxing and the waning of the moon.
And beyond the moon – so, so far beyond that to my mind it remains incomprehensible no matter how many numbers are attached to it – lay tiny points of light that betokened the stars – suns and worlds that must forever remain unknown to us; and the stars themselves are only seen because of the immense emptiness of the sky around them.
There is a claustrophobia that develops the more self-centred our lives have become, but when we stand before the magnificence of the universe we realise how infinitesimal we are and that is a most powerful way to be de-centred and set free from our own petty concerns.
Sometimes a great quiet
descends unbidden
for this thing
– which is no-thing –
cannot be compelled
and then it seems
the whole world
becomes attentive:
watching,
waiting.
It may come
with the soft morning light
which gently warms the world;
or it may be
it is there
while watching the peasant
walking through the wilderness;
or again,
when a leaf bids goodbye
to a tree and waves
through the air
on its way to the ground.
But when it comes
there is a clarity
unknown at other times
and I wonder
who or what it is
that sees through these eyes,
and who or what it is
that is seen,
for at that time
though there is distance
there is no separation.