The Observer

The Observer sits behind all play,
Life's masks dance in its presence,
Many faces,
Many shadows,
Many desires,
But I sit behind it all.
As the grace of life supports my seat,
To witness my dance,
To witness my shadow,
To witness my play,
As I identify to all my characters,
I lose sight of the eye of truth,
But the eye never loses sight of me,
So which am I?
The dance?
The dancer?
The stage?
All of it or none of it,
A choice must be made,
Somewhere I must find a position,
But whose position is the choice made by?
All of it circles me back,
Into the place of no return.
As I dissolve into the empty seeing,
Of the blossoming of my own existence.

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