Maya’s Moonlight, The Silk Thread, and Roots Beneath the Sand
— A Trifold Reflection on Illusion, Awareness, and Belonging
🌕 Maya’s Moonlight Dance (Journal Entry – 14 September 2005)
The full moon hovered over the paddy fields in Kedah that night, hanging like a silver coin in the black bowl of the sky. The earth was soft beneath my feet, dew-kissed and alive. I watched the shadows play — the sway of palm fronds, the silent hush of night creatures moving through the grass — and I was struck by how beautiful illusions can be.
I remembered the teachings: Maya is not merely deception; she is the divine dancer, and we are her audience. We chase shadows, we fall in love with them, and sometimes we confuse their dance with truth.
But in that still moment under moonlight, I let the shadows dance without reaching for them. I whispered to the stars, Let me be the witness, not the chaser. Let me love the dance, but never forget the dancer.
🧘♂️ The Silk Thread of Awareness (Reflection – 9 July 2006)
One evening in Terengganu, I sat cross-legged on the old wooden floor of my rented room, the fan creaking above, incense curling beside me. I dropped into silence. As I breathed, I felt it — a fine thread of awareness rising along my spine, shimmering like silk in still air.
Thoughts came like passing winds: worry, memory, hunger, longing. Each one tried to tug at the thread, to pull me into its swirl. But I held my seat, steady.
In that quiet, I saw my mind like a loom, weaving every passing thought into a temporary pattern. And I realized: Maya does not only deceive — she weaves. The key is to remember the loom is mine, even if the threads are borrowed.
That night, I smiled at every thought as it passed, bowing to it like a guest who does not stay.
🌱 Roots Beneath the Sand (Dawn Walk – 3 March 2008)
Before the sun rose, I walked the beach at Batu Rakit. The tide had drawn back, leaving delicate shell traces and tiny patterns in the sand. Every shell I passed was once a home. Empty now. Beautiful still.
I thought of all the identities I’d worn — son, seeker, artist, husband, stranger — and how each one, like those shells, had once housed me. But the tides of life moved on. The real home, I felt, wasn’t in the shell at all. It was in the silence beneath, the unseen root.
As my feet sank into the cool sand, I heard something deeper: You are not the footprints, you are not the wave — you are the stillness beneath both.
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In that moment, I belonged. Not to the world. Not to the name. But to the rhythm beneath all things.
📿 Final Reflection
Maya does not lie to us. She teaches — through moonlight, through thought, through tide and time. She is not the enemy. She is the veil through which we must see more clearly. And sometimes, through grace, the veil lifts just long enough for us to remember who we are — and who we’ve always been.
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