I watch the full moon rise over the hill.
Gradually, or suddenly, (I'm not sure which)
The landscape is revealed in all its beauty.
The trees are bathed in soft moonlight,
The rocks are ghostly white,
The lake is shimmering as if it were alive.

Just a few moments ago the lake was dark.
It is surely not the same lake that now looks silver.
Or is it?

And I know that the trees are green.
The pallid trees in this moonscape
Cannot be the same trees I saw this morning.
Or can they?

And the owl who sits motionless just above my head;
He was not there before the moon appeared.
Or was he?

The full moon hangs in the sky, just out of reach.
It is so bright that there are no stars nearby.
Or are there?

The moon is bright.
The landscape is bright.
Yet the light belongs to the sun,
Which I cannot see.
Or does it?

My mind reels with confusion.
Which is the reality, and which the illusion?
Is everything illusion?
Or are there many realities?
How can I cope with a world
Where reality becomes illusion,
And vice versa?

I take a deep breath.
And suddenly all is clear.
The world does not matter.
I know that I am real,
Stable and dependable,
Despite the world's confusion.

I breathe in calmness and serenity.
I breathe out my confusion,
And it rolls across the lake
(Which might or might not be real)
And disappears in the distance.

After a while I look down.
My hands are silver in the moonlight.
But I know that my hands are not silver,
Are they?

I watch the full moon rise over the hill.
Or do I?

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Copyright © 2008 Harvey Tordoff.
H. P. Blavatsky photographs courtesy of Colyn Boyce.