Shooting Star

And a shooting star flashed over the summit of my world.

"Should I make a wish?" came my dreaming mind.

A wish... What could I wish for?

Well, there are many things I would like to wish for, but everything that comes, goes. Everything in my life is more fleeting than the very star that brought it.

Vanity of vanities, all I could wish for is vanity. What, after all, should I add to my life to make it better?

Judgments and madness: this is sorting divine life into better and worse.

A wish... And who is it that wishes?

All philosophy is banal, but all introspection is nourishing. The only way to get better is to stop and look.

Who am I, born bearer of free will and the privilege of wishing? Were these gifted to me by the titans, miracles once granted only to the eternal gods?

How fleeting is the world, where I cannot define anything without the perception of ultimate reality slipping entirely from my dreaming gaze!

And I wish... I don't know what to wish for.

I don't know what this life is, in which a human body is placed, perceiving from a single point and believing, sacrificially, that this limited perception is the one true breadth of the infinite.

I don't know what this tool is that I use to know, to choose the turns of the road, to craft out of nothing a wish that imagines a reality different from the one I am observing in this essential present.

A wish...? When I look at this present, I find myself.

And I find myself wishing.

I find that a wish is nothing but an emptiness asking to be filled.

Wishing is an abyss that makes me look to the sky, chasing shooting stars after the imaginary idea of being made whole.

But I look into the emptiness, and the emptiness takes in all that I am.

I am that emptiness. And so I cannot be filled.

Fullness is not in the wishes that streak by the thousands across the dark skies.

The almighty force of essential fullness does not stop to remember how fleeting the stars are.

The mystery of the whole universe is within me.

And amid so full an infinity of wishes, I see that, going back to the root, there is nothing to wish for.

My life is already present, here.