Illumination

Climbing the heights where the air runs thin,
Our pilgrim forged on through rocky ascent.
The path was steep and narrow as a pin,
Yet drawn as if by fate, he did not relent.
Days of travel and nights under cold sky
He pressed upward, by inner zeal content.
As altitude soared, clouds drifting by,
The world below a patchwork distant dream,
He felt closer to truth he sensed nearby.
At last one dawn’s light cast a golden beam
On a plateau high above verdant earth,
A summit plateau by heaven’s seam.

Arriving at midday, a curious mirth
Seized him: the summit was not barren stone
But a meadow with flowers bursting forth.
Alpine blooms of every color known
Danced in sunlight under crystal air,
As if paradise on mount had been sown.
At the far end, a cliff dropped off somewhere
Beyond mortal sight—an abyss sublime.
At center, an oak tree ancient and fair
Spread its mighty branches, defying time.
Its trunk gnarled and knotted with scars of age,
Yet leaves fresh green as in youthful prime.

Under this tree, as if hermitage,
Sat a solitary figure cross-legged.
Robed in simple white garb of a sage,
Back turned to pilgrim, wholly unalleged.
Sensing presence, the figure spoke calm:
“Welcome, traveler. Your path was rugged.
Come, rest at the tree; find peace and balm.”
The pilgrim obeyed, quietly drawing near,
Feeling sweet solace as if wrapped in psalm.
He sat by the stranger with love sincere,
Noticing now an old man with shaved head,
Beard white, eyes closed as if truth were clear.

Moments passed in silence, nothing said,
But a profound communication flowed.
The pilgrim felt as if mind had been read,
That this sage without speaking all bestowed
Comfort, acknowledgment, understanding.
At length the old man’s eyes opened, glowed
With bright hazel light, compassion blending.
“You have come far, seeker of the true,
Through forest dark, desert, city tending
The suffering of others with heart anew.
Tell me, what is it that you now desire,
Here at world’s roof beneath heaven’s blue?”

The pilgrim thought deeply, as was required.
What did he yet seek? He’d learned and done
So much. Yet something deeper still aspired.
“I have beheld unity, nearly won
Peace within and without by grace and trial.
I have served love under moon and sun.
Yet still, O master, remains one dial
I cannot yet read—the ultimate goal,
To truly be that love without denial.
My hunger for truth has carved out a soul,
But I fear to carve God from my craving
Is folly. How to fully be made whole?”

The sage smiled gentle at this engraving
Of doubt laid bare by the pilgrim’s artless heart.
“You fear your hunger’s idol might be braving
A false god? That by your own hand and art
You’ve only shaped illusion to worship,
Not the reality behind the chart?”
The pilgrim nodded, each word like a whip
On self-honesty flayed raw but cleansing.
“Yes, teacher. I’ve seen through lies and hardship,
Yet how do I know if I am sensing
The true Beloved, or just my mind’s shape?
Yearning is deep, but truth needs discerning.”

The old man closed eyes briefly, then drape
One hand on the ground, the other upturned,
As if bridging earth and sky in gape.
“Your journey’s lessons have by now affirmed
That paradox and union mark the Way:
In emptiness, form; through fire, life returned;
In serving others, self finds light of day.
Now comes final trial, subtle and profound:
To lose even the hunger that led your stay.
Not to kill it, but to let it drown
In the ocean that is the Beloved’s grace—
To merge the seeker and sought, self unbound.”

He rose smoothly to feet, in motion grace,
And beckoned the pilgrim stand up as well.
Leading to the oak’s trunk broad embrace,
He placed a hand on bark, knotted and swell.
“This oak has lived through ages untold,
Burned by lightning, by drought nearly fell;
Yet each scar deepened wisdom it could hold.
In its heartwood, a hollow chamber rings—
The tree is empty, thus grows more bold.
So must you become, an empty offering:
Hollow out the last vestige of ego’s claim,
Then shall your soul like this tree truly sing.”

He knocked on the trunk; a resonant frame
Sounded within, echo pure and deep.
“Enter the hollow, if thou seeketh aim
To finally drink from truth’s fountain steep.”
The pilgrim noticed now an opening
Among roots—a doorway where one could creep.
He hesitated a moment, heart fluttering,
Then stooped and entered that wooden cave.
Inside, dim light filtered, softly uttering
Through cracks, and the scent of oak so gave
Comfort akin to incense at prayer.
The hollow trunk was snug as a grave.

Surprisingly, within there was a stair
Carved winding upward, narrow and old.
The sage’s voice floated, “Ascend if you dare.”
With courage steadying, he took hold
Of twisting staircase inside the tree’s core,
Climbing upward through darkness uncontrolled.
The way felt endless, circling more and more,
As if ascending to another world.
His limbs grew heavy and doubt as before.
But now he recalled how illusions swirled
When nearing truth; likely one final test—
To discourage the soul with fear unfurled.

So onward he climbed, resolved and blessed,
Reciting quietly prayers from each faith
He’d learned, keeping heart and mind at rest.
At last, a glimmer above like wraith
Showed an exit from that wooden tunnel.
He emerged on a ledge, catching breath’s lathe.
To his astonishment, beyond that funnel
Stretched not the meadow or sky he’d left,
But an infinite space—stars without kennel.
He seemed afloat in infinity, bereft
Of the mountain, the oak, of earth below;
The ledge he stood on hung in space, a cleft

In existence itself, where dreams grow
Before him, an apparition took form—
A being of light no shadow could throw.
It wore the likeness of all he’d seen warm:
The hermit, the hooded guide, the Sufi,
The elder, the sage—faces shift in swarm.
At times it was beloved friends in duty,
At times unknown but radiantly fair,
Male, female, and androgynous in beauty.
Finally, it settled to one face rare—
The pilgrim’s own face, but crowned with fire,
Eyes full of love, free of burden or care.

This self-not-self smiled and rose up higher,
Standing upon nothing, yet firm and real.
It spoke without sound, but clear as choir
In the pilgrim’s mind, making true appeal:
“You have journeyed far, dear self of mine,
Shed blood and tears in pursuit of the ideal.
Know now that I am the one you pine
To meet, yet I’ve been with you all along.
I am the timeless soul in you, divine.
You carved God from hunger—this was not wrong,
For it led you onward, step after step,
Each idol shattered when proved empty song.

Your hunger, like fire, burned dross and kept
You seeking purer to quench the desire,
Til at last through illusions you have leapt.
Now standing at edge of truth’s utmost spire,
Only one veil remains: the seeker’s pride,
The sense of separate self you must retire.”
The pilgrim trembled, though not to deride
The words—in them resonated fate’s tone.
Yet what was being asked, to cast aside
His self entirely? would nothing be known?
Sensing fear, the radiant image stepped close,
Placed light-hand on heart, dispelling the lone.

In that touch, lifetimes of hurt arose,
Regrets, attachments, all hopes and all fears,
Flashed before his eyes in mournful prose.
He saw childhood loneliness, youth’s lost years,
Faces of those he’d loved and lost to time,
Achievements and failures that drew out tears.
He saw the one moment sublime
When he first glimpsed the Beloved within
During the song in the temple’s prime.
All these he held dear, his narrative skin,
The story that he called “me” and “my own.”
To surrender this—did liberation begin?

“Will I vanish?” he asked in trembling tone.
The presence answered, “Only what is false.
Your true self divine can never be gone.
Like drop in ocean, your small ego falls
Into larger being—ceases as drop,
Yet as oceanic oneness enthralls.
You will still act, think, love, but shall adopt
The perspective of greater unity.
No longer by fears of ego be stopped.”
The pilgrim-soul considered destiny,
Remembering the pain of separate life,
The glimpses of joy in community.

He thought of the valley of trials rife,
People he helped, the moments of pure grace,
When he forgot himself in healing strife.
Those times felt meaningful beyond replace.
Perhaps this is the secret of saints long sung—
To lose oneself in all, emptiness embrace.
Steeling resolve from what bell had rung,
He nodded slowly, ready to release,
Trusting that love would catch him when un-sprung.
The radiant self then gave him peace:
“I am what happens when you set aside
The hunger that carves false gods, and find peace.”

At that, the starry void opened wide
Behind the figure, revealing a gate
Formed of light in filigree undenied.
It beckoned gently, as if to negate
Any final doubt with allure of truth.
The pilgrim stepped forward, embracing fate.
At the threshold he paused, a moment sooth,
Looked back one last time at what was “I”,
Then with a breath stepped through as new youth.
In blinding flash he felt himself untie—
No, dissolve—no, expand—words cannot say,
A drop returning to sea with soft sigh.

He felt all boundaries melting away,
Sense of self diffused in existence entire.
He was the sunlight dancing on the bay,
And the bay itself, deep, living sapphire.
He was fusion, and hydrogen, and helium,
And the dark between, infinite quire.
He was the laughter of children certain,
And the tears of the grieving mother too.
He was the questing sage and the urchin.
He was wind on grass and the morning dew,
All at once in one vast awareness merged—
An “I” as big as the All, fresh and new.

There was no pilgrim left that could be urged,
Yet paradoxically he remained true—
A presence through which universe now surged.
How long he stayed in that union through
Beyond time’s meaning, cannot be measured,
Could be an instant or eons in lieu.
In mortal world, a flash of light treasured
Burst from the oak’s hollow and kissed the sky,
A meteor by which night was pleasured.
The sage at foot of tree beheld it fly,
Smile knowingly at the sign of success,
Then closed his eyes with a contented sigh.