Bodhamātra (awareness alone)

In the dim glow of the theater,
the screen flickers, shadows dance—
a play unfolds, or perhaps a film,
and you, the audience, sit in silence,
watching lives unravel, dreams collide,
yet you remain untouched, an observer

the world spins on, scenes painted in anguish,
joy, laughter, and the weight of despair,
but amidst the chaos, you breathe,
an unseen spirit,
unraveled from the story,
held aloft by awareness,
which knows no binds

the mind is a tangled web,
clutching at threads of desire,
woven with fear and longing,
grasping tightly to moments,
yet losing sight of the ceaseless flow,
while awareness floats,
a silent spectator,
a still pond reflecting the stars,
unmoved by the storm

consider the mother, the newborn
cradled in dreams,
lost in the soft embrace of slumber,
her heart wide, yet her eyes closed,
detached in the sweetest reverie,
holding love without possession,
understanding without grasping

in this great production of lives and times,
you are a single gaze,
perhaps teary or joyful,
but never entwined in the narrative,
a distant star watching,
illuminating the path for
those caught in the fray
let the story unfold, let the
actors embrace their fate,
for in their struggle, you find
the mirror of your soul,
fragile yet fierce, alive yet apart
and as the curtain falls,
remember, it was never about
being in the scene,
but in knowing the dance,
the gentle ebb and flow of existence,
the essence of being—
always observing, always aware,
free in the joy of detachment

you are only awareness
alone,
you are neither the mind,
nor are you mind and
awareness, you cannot
be a horse and a donkey,
an orange and an apple,
you are only the apple,
the apple alone