The Game

Wandering and observer,
Travelling to foreign parts,
But never astray, lest,
Encountering foreign faces,

Subtly, though, a quaint fascination,
Feeling the same core within,
A similar presentation,
Going where I go; upon only will,

Of the Tradition and yet shattered,
Glass on the floor:
Safe and pretty from afar,
But beware if one is to grasp it!
Picking up the pieces; calmly, patiently,
Without thought of “next” or “where” or “how far,”
But to act to act: upon itself,
Upon oneself:
This is the Game!

Ought one even play, though?
Competition, conflicting; an externalization,
Is the Game individual?
Perhaps so, perhaps so,
Is the external a mirroring of the individual?
Perhaps so.
The Game is within fractals within fractals within fractals,
Subsisting oblivious to observers although,
They may cheer and shout if they please,

Conflicted within the ego; a conflict of two,
Sides of the realm; inner and outer,
Which will reign supreme? One? None? Both?
Both: for they are two sides of the same coin,
The very coins used in the grand Game!
Don’t you see?
Me neither –- we’re all fools here,

Upon the supra-temporal one wonders,
One walks, however, upon the temporal,
To think, to know; to understand, to see,
Further though, I go; steadily,
I have all the time in the world,

Patient, honest, warm, upright;
Still and quiet, triumphal in grace,
But in the grace of whom?
You decide for it is,

All in the mind.

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