changing light

I am sitting by lake Marion, in the glaciated mountains of Fiordland, in the South Island of New Zealand. It's been a beautiful sunny day and I've been sitting here for some hours. And of course the sun has been moving across the sky, and I've really noticed how this has changed the appearance of the scene before me. To the west are very steep cliffs, carved out by glaciers long gone, and earlier in the day they were well lit by the sun, impressive, but not foreboding. Now, however, they've been plunged into shadow: it gives them an ominous feeling, rather threatening. On the other hand, across the lake, a waterfall, which was rather in the shadow when I arrived, is now in full sunshine. It's beautiful.

And seeing all this, seeing how everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed, it reminds me of the process of enlightenment. It's a paradoxical process. On the one hand we can't do anything to bring it about, and in a sense nothing changes with enlightenment, but on the other hand, everything seems to change. It's as if the sun has moved and the light is now falling on our buddha nature. We remember it's there. We become acquainted with it once again. And it's as beautiful as this glistening waterfall in the afternoon sun. We haven't really done anything to bring about this change. It's a change of perspective, a slight change in our psychology, that's all: a change that allows us to see that which was hidden in the shadow before.

Well, that is the little analogy that has come to mind, as I sit here enjoying the afternoon sun at Lake Marion.