The Vajra Sun and Moon

Upon a road of dust and dreams
Where flickering thought became extremes,
A traveller wandered, proud yet blind,
Through winding corridors of mind.

He chased the gold of praise and fame,
Defended fiercely his own name,
And built from mist a mighty throne,
Proclaiming softly, “This is mine alone.”

Yet every joy he grasped with might
Dissolved like dew in morning light.
Each fear he fought, each hope he won,
Became another setting sun.

At last, exhausted by the chase,
He paused within a silent place.
No palace there, no sacred dome,
Yet strangely it felt more like home.

A teacher sat beside a flame,
Neither seeking loss nor gain.
Its light shone steady, clear and bright,
Dispelling shadows of the night.

The traveller asked, “What fire is this,
Whose warmth contains such peaceful bliss?”

The master smiled.

“This flame you see
Burns not through force, nor ego-self mightily.

It is the wisdom deep and clear
That sees through hope and sees through fear.

The root of sorrow is not pain,
Nor sun, nor cloud, nor wind, nor rain.

The root is ignorance concealed,
A false appearance never healed.

You grasp at self as truly found,
Existing firmly, all around.

You grasp at things in just the same,
Believing each possesses name,

And essence from its own side true,
Independent in its view.”

The traveller gazed into the fire,
Its dancing tongues seemed to aspire

Toward neither heaven nor abyss,
But something vast beyond all this.

The master spoke:

“The sages tell
Of two great knots that weave the spell.

The grasping self, ‘I am this one,’
And grasping things beneath the sun.

These twin illusions bind the wheel
And make the dream of suffering real.

Yet investigate with patient sight,
Not blindly, nor through mere delight.

Search for the self you hold so dear;
Examine closely, persevere.

Is it the body, flesh and bone?
The changing thoughts you call your own?

The feelings passing day by day?
The mind that cannot ever stay?

Look carefully and you shall find
No fixed possessor stands behind.”

The traveller searched both near and far,
Through every thought and memory’s scar.

He found appearances that flowed,
Yet nowhere stood a solid lord.

Astonished, he turned once again.

“Does nothing then at all remain?”

The master laughed beneath the moon.

“You’ve reached the second cliff too soon.

For emptiness is not a void,
Nor meaninglessness unemployed.

Things function, blossom, live and fade,
Through causes, conditions all are made.

The self exists conventionally,
Yet never inherently.

Thus dependent arising is the key
To all appearance that we see.

Because all things are empty, they can grow.
Because they grow, their emptiness we know.”

The moon arose upon the hill,
The fire continued bright and still.

Then sun and moon appeared as one,
A union not of two but none.

The traveller saw the forest wide,
The rivers, mountains, changing tide.

Each leaf depended on the tree,
The tree upon the soil’s decree,

The soil upon the rain and sun,
And countless causes joined as one.

No separate thing was ever found,
Yet life was flourishing all around.

A tear of wonder filled his eye.

“For every creature seeks to fly

From suffering just as I have done,
Beneath the same all-shining sun.

How strange my arrogance has been,
To place myself above the scene.

For every meal, each breath I take,
Depends on lives that help me wake.

How can I cling to me and mine
When all existence intertwines?”

The vajra sun of wisdom rose,
The moon of compassion then exposed

The secret hidden from the start:

No separate self stood apart.

The actor, action, acted-on,
Like rainbow colours in the dawn,

Appear distinctly to the view,
Yet lack the essence thought them true.

Not one is found through ultimate sight,
Yet each functions clearly in daylight.

Thus karma flows without a lord,
Without a judge, without a sword.

Cause and effect remain precise,
Not granted by celestial vice

Nor favoured by omnipotent hands,
But arising through dependent strands.

The traveller knelt beside the flame.

No longer seeking wealth or name,

He made a vow beneath the sky:

“Until all suffering is gone, shall I

Cultivate wisdom and great care,
For every being everywhere.

For self and other are not two
Within dependent arising’s view.”

The fire burned.

Yet now its blaze
Consumed the roots of ancient maze.

Not people.

Not the world.

Not life.

But ignorance, the hidden knife.

And as its fuel dissolved away,
The darkness could no longer stay.

Then vast awareness, clear and bright,
Neither a thing nor empty night,

Neither existing nor denied,
Beyond all grasping’s restless tide,

Shone forth within the mindstream clear,
Unbound by hope, unbound by fear.

The vajra sun could not be dimmed.
The moon of compassion overflowed its brim.

And all appearances were seen
As neither false nor truly supreme.

Just dreams arising, clear and free,
Within dependent origination’s sea.

Thus wisdom crossed the farther shore,
Where grasping ruled the heart no more.

And there the traveller finally knew

The truth the Buddhas always drew:

That emptiness and appearance play
Like moonlit waves at break of day.

And awakening is not somewhere above,

But wisdom joined with boundless love.