Open a door into a quiet, changing room.
Sometimes it has no roof, no walls.
Sometimes it is dark and still, dusky light with a comfortable couch.
Still other times it is simply a window with a raindrop trailing down, following almost but not quite the tracks of countless other drops,
And the quiet of the room behind the window.
Who is there, sharing that vast, enclosing, freeing space?
There is a presence, benign.
Malignancy can’t find the door, doesn’t even know to look. But if he did, the way would be indistinguishable in his dark corridor.
But for you, the outline shines with a silver light.
Step inside. Everything is waiting for you.
Lining the walls are the placidly smiling Buddhas, their eyes twinkling with delight and welcome.
But don’t be shy. They’re in their own rooms, after all.
This is the in-between space where everyone and no one is.
One is waiting, ready to let you see through his eyes.
You can feel it, can’t you---
The acceptance, the peace, the air like breathable music?
Veiled though you are, and shrouded in blind mortality,
Here is the space between.
Come, wander and rest,
There's a door on this side, too.
