Who Is It That Sees Poem by Gregory H. Wlodarski

One day a seed did sprout,
About who it is that's sees,
Who's that person all about,
With the squeak in his knees.

I watched the birth of a thought,
And how it did transform.
I watched, not at all distraught,
How the sense of 'me' did form.

At first a fiber in the weave,
In the fabric of his 'me',
Gradually then I did perceive,
How the two began to cleave.

Just by watching I did affect,
The changes that occurred.
Time seemed to disconnect,
Slowing from a tangled blur.

When a thought I did speak,
Was not my voice that I heard.
Though flowing from my beak,
It wasn't 'me' that said a word.

When I moved any limb,
Muscles moved clairvoyantly.
Through the air I did swim,
A body floating buoyantly.

Subtle did the wisdom grow,
This 'me' was just a dream.
'I' was just a puppet show,
A kettle filled with steam.

Beneath the boiling there it was,
All the while to be seen,
A quiet fire and the cause,
For life's effects and mind serene.

Each moment held a joy,
As clear as a mountain spring.
No passions born to annoy,
Each day gliding on the wing.

But there's a force running deep,
Away from this awakened stream.
It's a world all asleep,
Living through an ego's dream.

Its a tide that drags to 'stuff',
Where loves and hates coexist,
Where more is never enough,
And 'you's' and 'me's' persist.

It drags the mind, this gripping tide,
From open eyes and seeing clear,
Toward gods and demons all contrived,
To explain the suffering and the fear.

Each day is a constant struggle,
To swim against the tide,
Perceptions of life to juggle,
Like a Jekyll and a Hyde.

Daily work to be done,
Constant effort to apply,
To lose the 'me' and one become,
With the apple and the pie.

---