He just wanted to sleep the eternal sleep of peace. Sleep, of tranquility, never to be shattered by anything, relevant or obscure. Never to be disturbed by anything, no matter how pressing. A sleep filled with dreams all beautiful. Or, shall there not be any dreams? Or, a sleep never disturbed, and never ever to be disturbed by even the hint of a nightmare.
There was, however, a thought gnawing away at his vitals. And, the thought disturbed him no end. Would this indeed be the peace of sleep that had been promised. That sleep from which he was rudely awakened sometime in his existence. That bawling, that screaming, those hands, those claws, reaching out, as though trying to scratch away every trace of flesh from his body. Or worse. Every last trace of his being. How was he, a mere mortal that he was, expected to escape the clutches of those deadly claws. After all, hadnt far greater men than he had their clothese torn, if not their innards torn out from inside them by those very claws, forever hunting? As he lived in the jungle, the tiger loose, may decide any moment now, to pounce upon its prey. Wonder whats taking him so long. Was he doomed to waiting silently for his nemesis. Or, was he to run, run from those claws of the hungry tiger. Run for his life, his very existence?
But, he didn’t want to run. For, would the tiger not bring along with him, at least the promise of that sleep. Or, at least the pain that would make him cry out loud. For deliverance. But, shall there be deliverance? Are our desires always satisfied? Even if they are about deliverance. Or, are we condemned to nursing them for all times to come?
Those tigers roaming the jungles, untamed, feeding away at him. He is told they came with him. Why the package deal? Would they depart with him? Shall he carry them forever as a load around his neck? Denying him the sleep that he had been promised, as his just reward, to come when darkness stands by the door, while light refuses to let go. When night finally enters his being, firmyl in control. And, that is the moment that he relishes. This is the moment he looks forward to, he desires.
Why is the moment of reckoning elusive? Why does it play with him so? Come what may, he must wait. Await the night, await that beautiful sleep of eternity that night promises to bring with her. Surely, at that moment, he would have left those claws, and their tigers far far behind, cheated them of what was never theirs to claim rightfully in the first place. Surely, that is She.
She, the darkness of the night. Walking in on tip-toe. You will not be able to hear her coming, and if you are not paying attention, she has this habit of stealing up on you, especially when you thought she had abandoned you. But, it was She who had promised her to you, and how could She go back on her word.
However, he doesn’t quite think so. How can he believe that she has been promised, when he cannot find her? Is his patience, his longing, going to be tested to the hilt? As he sits in his room, looking out at that ball of fire going down upon him, going down upon the day, he hears the faint whisper of the breeze playing into his ears. Do those whispers bring the gosspi of the bazaar to him, or is this a lullaby the breeze sings to him?
He strains to keep his eyes open. But, they are stubborn. They want to close. They want to sleep. As does he. So, why does he strain to keep them open? The thought surprises him. He is getting what is due to him, something he always desired, and yet he hesitates. Hesitates like the bride making her way, on the wings of dreams, to her beloved. She wants to go to him, and yet she hesitates.
Is he the bride to the night? Is he the soul that has been promised to the night, or is he the master. As he looks at the breeze, singing those whispers to him, the question becomes one of gargantuan proportions to his mind, till it is pounding at his brain. It cannot cast this aside. The answer to this decides whether he has to walk, and if so, how far. And, whether he has to hesitate, and if so, how much. But, in the final analysis, does it matter?
He doesn’t think so. How does it matter whether he meets his beloved, or whether she meets hers. She has been promised to him, so she shall come to him. That beautiful princess, astride the wings of the of the dying moments of the day. He welcomes her with open arms. But whats this? Is it her turn to tease him? No. She walks in, a song on her lips, a smile in her eyes. Where has he heard this song before? Wasn’t this the lullaby the breeze was singing for him? Was was it just her voice that was carrying to him, over the jungles, by the breeze, the messenger? Never mind. He shall never know. Not that he cares.
The song sounds so sweet, the melody as if originating in another world. Wonder of wonders, the smile sounds the same as the song. Or, is this song that Universal song? He does know that he has heard this song even before the breeze whispered it into his ears. But, where? He probably doesn’t care. After all, why should he? His beloved embraced him in her arms. Why, then, should he have a care in the world?
The promised sleep is finally here. A sleep so deep he doesn’t even know whether he is dreaming of anything or not. All he knows is that is aching bones have found the rest they were looking for. Of course, its still dark out there, and he is still not ready to wake up. He has, after all, earned it.
But whats this? Can it be dawn so soon? Was there ever supposed to be a dawn to this night? A dawn to wake him up from his slumber? Was he not promised eternal sleep? But, where is that light coming from? Who is this he sees? It is his very beloved. And it looks like she wants him to wake up. When did she turn into light?
The light brings with it the same smile, the same song. This song is certainly not a lullaby. And yet, the song is definitely the same. How can this be? These are the opposites of the sensuous world. The lullaby wakes him up. And then, he sees.
The light is the sleep. They are SHE.