(from Yoga Vāsiṣṭha Tales)
Opening Scene
One quiet evening, Rāma sat gazing into the fading light.
“Master,” he said softly, “I once dreamt that I was another man, living another life. When I awoke, I could not tell which was truer — that dream, or this waking world. How can one know what is real?”
Vāsiṣṭha’s eyes gleamed with compassion.
“Rāma,” he said, “listen to the story of the Dream King, who lived and died many times within a single night.”
Long ago there was a noble king named Lavana, ruler of a great city, beloved by his people. One day, as he sat upon his throne listening to musicians, he closed his eyes for a moment — and in that instant the world changed.
He found himself no longer a king but a wanderer, standing alone in a desert under the blazing sun. His clothes were torn, his mouth dry with thirst. All memory of palace or power had vanished.
“Where am I?” he cried. No answer came — only the wind.
Years seemed to pass. He wandered from village to village, begging for food, suffering insult and hunger. He married, had children, and grew old in poverty.
Then, one day, a fierce tribe captured him, bound him, and made him their slave. In time they made him king of their land — a wild land of beasts and war. He ruled with cruelty born of fear. Battles came and went. His sons died. His queen left him.
At last, in a great war, an arrow pierced his heart. As he fell, the world faded into darkness.
When he opened his eyes, he was back upon his golden throne. The courtiers still played their instruments; only a few moments had passed.
Startled, he cried out, “Where is my kingdom? Where are my wives, my sons, my battles?”
The ministers looked at him in confusion. “O Lord,” they said, “nothing has changed. You closed your eyes for but a heartbeat.”
But the king trembled, for the years he had lived in that dream were as vivid as the jewels upon his hands. The pain, the love, the grief — all had been real.
Later that night, the sage Vāsiṣṭha visited him. The king bowed and said, “Master, was that a dream, or another life?”
Vāsiṣṭha replied,
“Neither, and both. Every moment of thought is a world complete in itself. Consciousness creates, sustains, and dissolves universes in the blink of an eye.
When the mind wakes, it calls the past a dream; when it dreams, it calls the waking unreal. But to the wise, both are waves upon the same ocean of awareness.”
The next morning, Lavana walked through his palace gardens. The scent of jasmine, the laughter of servants, even the golden sunrise — all seemed to float within a deeper stillness.
He whispered, “Whether waking or dreaming, only Consciousness remains.”
From that day onward he ruled with gentleness, seeing no difference between friend and foe, life and death, dream and day. His heart rested in the calm of one who knows that everything arises and subsides within the infinite Self.
Life is but a dream within Consciousness.
Dream and waking are two mirrors facing each other —
only the seer behind both is real.
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