Originally titled "Illusion," this philosophical poem explores stillness and inner peace. It captures a quiet gaze that lets go of worry and time, refusing to judge the self, while stripping away ego and the mind's frantic seasons.
Let the gaze fold, softly shut, a moment held— a slow tide of breath that enters and leaves. Within you, gently, not demanding or rushed, who is left there to judge? For in this stillness the past can hold no claim. Is it your imagination, or the drift of fallen leaves like papery whispers outside the door? They gather, dry and scattered, smelling of dust and worry— magnetic forms of the lower mind. You have been here before, cloaked in yesterday’s echoes, ruminating on the creases of time carved like ancient riverbeds onto an aging, fragile face. Look out to the unveiled skies and see the light moving across without apology— this endless flow where truth is found, and the ego’s frantic season is stripped away as illusion.
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