The Knot That Dreamed Itself

In the hush before morning, when shadows are still tall,
A traveler of mind rose to greet the new day call.
She carried a knot made of thoughts that she had spun,
A loop of “I‑me” that it seemed could not be undone.

The knot whispered stories of mine and of me,
Of waves of not knowing they are the ocean sea.
It tightened each time she believed what it said,
And wove her a cocoon made of silkworm‑thread.

She wandered through bardos of waking and sleep,
Where Thomas‑like doubts rose the walls of the deep.
His touch of wound for truth with trembling hand,
And found that the solid was nothing but sand.

For doubt on the altar of truth becomes light,
A lantern that glows in the heart of the night.
And self‑cherished shadows dissolve when they’re seen,
Like dew disappearing in dawn’s golden sheen.

The traveler noticed the sneaker of “I”
That tiptoed through moments and clouded the sky.
It whispered, “Hold tight to the story you weave,”
But awareness replied, “You are free when “you” leave.”

She breathed through the knot with a captain’s soft grace,
Guiding compassion like wind through the space.
The maras approached with their masks and their schemes,
But wisdom unmasked them as flickering dreams.

Emotion turned luminous, shedding its weight,
Transmuting to insight, to clear knowing state.
The vase of identity cracks into air,
Revealing the spaciousness already there.

She practiced the mindfulness—fourfold and true—
Not building a self, but releasing the glue.
Phenomena freed in their own rightful place,
No grasping, no clinging, no tightening trace.

And the knot that once bound her began to unwind,
Not through selfing but recognising the nature of mind.
The endless knot shimmered interlinked wise,
A symbol of wisdom and love united, untied.

She smiled at the dawn as it opened the door,
A wave now remembering the ocean once more.
The knot that had dreamed it was solid and real
Returned to aware space where all beings can heal.

And she whispered, “Awareness is all that I am—
Not actor, nor action, nor self‑woven sham.”
The tragedy fades when the lesson is learned:
The flame of delusion is gently upturned.

So she walked on the path where two wings non-abide,
Learning the path of the yogi, with sky inside.
And each step she took let the old self release,
Awakening softly to luminous peace.