The Dark Night of the Soul without Fire

There is no end in sight for the dark night of the soul in this world for those who are scattered all over the earth, carried hither and nowhere by the winds of august and the biting cold of february.

Weaving stories of misfortune and suffering, so many are beguiled by imagined suspicions and humiliations, casting aspersions on others. No amount of defence stands up in the face of flying accusations. J’accuse – so easily uttered – so easy to ascribe some horror to an unsuspecting soul adrift in the world, flailing to find her bearings, when comes the slap of an accusation from nowhere, with no leg to stand on – craftings of a suspicious mind – and shatters the inner world, and sends the spirit into a spiralling turmoil. Is there any solution to a fictitious grievance that causes real hurt? I do not know of it.

Buddha would wipe the spit of accusation and contempt off his face into the non-being, non-selfhood of nirvana, that place of loving compassion and kindness for the suffering souls hurtling through samsara.

A drowning man cannot rescue the sinking. Bleeding hearts cannot bandage the hemophiliac spirit. Oceans offer no refuge to those adrift on land. And sight, sound, and touch are no consolations for the unseeing, the unhearing and the unfeeling. Cries and screams will only make a hoarse throat, and there is only diminishing from such rancour, a slow dissipation, a painful withering away. Rejuvenation demands another journey altogether.

Fear and terror are born from a misperception of oneself and the world. These ghostly shadows grow fruitful and multiply and spread to the four corners of this round earth. Hatred cannot be countered with rage and indignation. Fear cannot be surmounted with aggression. Only the solvent of love and compassion dissolves such sickly apparitions.

Alone, in conversation with silence, in the company of friends and the gift of communion, one finds firm ground in sinking sands. The ocean threatens no more. And the cosmos comes to sit close by.

I am Prometheus Pāramitā,

Peck at my heart if that feeds your hunger,

Tear me apart if so doing makes you whole.

I took fire as my right and yours.

From thieving thugs – they were no gods!