The unveiling of the night yawns as it closes its cycle...

The unveiling of the night yawns as it closes its cycle, announcing the scent of a dream I am meant to live awake.

So many problems, so much dizziness, so much unease! What am I to do when everything seems to fence me in, in a confusion so deep it forgets that the blackness is nothing but my own blindness?

And the rooster's crow explains that I must deny myself, I must stop believing in how my sensations appear, I must question the evidence of my certainties. While I see nothing but the solid world of my own wretchedness, in my rising I proclaim it an illusory, ghostly world.

And what else is there? Where do I find the orient that points me to the origin of light? Where do I draw strength, will, faith, courage from?

And the nightingale's song explains that the sun of my dawn is called joy of the heart. I am to ask nothing for myself, only to give all I have. To exist is the stretching of firmaments that grow bright in their moment.

Magic springs from my thoughts among orange clouds, sky-blue intentions, a transparent gaze. From my own power I create a field of flowers reborn in life, in pigments and in simplicity.

Life multiplies into life and I overflow with smiles that shine toward the unconditional nature of right discernment. What more do I need?

And the song of my joy explains that I came to love, by day and by night, left and right. The celebration of the divine light of my reality sighs, the light that has always shone here, joyful, awake, free.