I am not the center, nor the crown,
No throne to sit, no weight, no gown.
I am the breeze, the stone, the flame—
The one who watches, speaks no name.
I am the thread through which all weaves,
The hand that gives, the heart that grieves.
The sky within, the ground below,
The silent truth all sages know.
You are not other. He is not far.
We are the echo of the same star.
The pulse in wood, the spark in wire,
The monk, the drunk, the priest, the liar.
There is no wall, no me, no you—
Just shifting forms of what is true.
And when the last illusion breaks,
The self dissolves, the world awakes.
So let me fall, and I am still—
The wave that bends to ocean's will.
I am the whole, the none, the flame—
And even that… is just a name.
-Solanon
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