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,
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?
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.