Camera Obscura.

To see one’s self is like watching

an actor on the stage of life who ad libs 

an unrehearsed play in the consciousness of 

another who directs the scenes behind 

the curtain, a veil of this reality concealed from

this world within another, in which the departed and

unborn stars live, exist together, side by side,

each hidden from the other like

past and future exist as one, without seeing 

the other side of existence in 

the eternity of the director, like

a conductor leading an invisible orchestra,

a seed not seeing the flower,

an ocean not discerning the river,

being one and the same, not

realizing self, nor actualized, 

merely looking in to the water’s mirror

and not viewing the refection due to the 

waves of doubt, crossing the mind,

obscuring the image, yet it was

my hand dipped in the water that caused

the wake of consciousness to move 

across the lake of time, breaching the veil

yet still being blind of what lies

beneath the surface, on the other side

the other world looks on and the unborn,

the deceased, try to pass a message

that falls on deaf ears, like music being conducted

in a symphony of muted strings, the lead

being I, in another state of time,

that eternal moment, where I am unaware that

I’m watching myself, behind the curtain, the veil,

the mirror and time join at 12 and 6 

touching each others hands, but I cannot see

what touches me, but I am now nearer to realizing

my true identity is not on the stage per se,

it is in the act of the play, of which I observe

And this riddle perplexes me.


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