Rest as original emptiness.
Be the mirror, not the image.
No fluttering wings
of opinion.
No old Summer stories
struggling in a silver web
the Autumn spider spins
across the night.
Be Ariadne,
the one who doesn't get stuck
in her own silken theater.
Play the magical game
where beggars and kings,
warriors, lovers, witches, fools
cling to their threads of desire,
while you simply witness
the glistening.
Don't be a bead, a diamond,
a netted star.
Be the spider,
the darkness Herself.
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