The Observer sits behind all play,
Life's masks dance in its presence,
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?
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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