Moksha

There was only one candle left in the house, but not one solid wall left so that a fierce wind blew through every hall of the house. Still, he had to see, he had to find what he was seeking. So he tried to light the candle with the last four matches he could find with his blind hands. One two three they failed one after the other, so that he was left with one match in the wind with his one candle. Then the air grew still like grace, the only wind left was his breathing. He looked all around him even though he could not see a thing, thanking the blankness for its bestowal of stillness. He took out his last match all full of confidence now, breathing steadily as he took it from the box, but slowing his breathing, then stopping his breathing as he swiped the stick along the sand. He would never be sure whether the flame that blossomed in his hand was a real flame or only the flickering flame of his imagination, so quickly was it extinguished. Only this time extinguished by breathlessness. He stood in the darkness and stopped all of his groping, stood in the darkness in equal parts wonder and dismay.