jasmine in moonlight

Last night was full moon, and at one point I was standing in the moonlight, smelling a jasmine flower. It was a beautiful moment, delicious, sensual. And feeling the moment, I could see that I was not separating the moonlight from the smell of the jasmine. The two had mingled together into a single sensory delight. It's as if the moonlight were colouring the sense of smell, the smell of the jasmine flower, giving the smell a nuance. And vice versa, the smell of the jasmine was colouring the moonlight, giving it a magical tint.

Usually, especially with language, we divide everything up so. The light is the light, the smell is the smell – as if the two never meet. And yet, in one's own subjective experience, it's not like this. Things are not separate. The moment is felt, as a single undivided moment, with all the senses mingled together. This was so evident last night, as I smelled the jasmine flower in the light of the full moon: one experience, one sensory moment, not divisible in any way.