The Awakening

The Awakening

In the quiet crypt of night's embrace,
Where shadows dance with ghostly grace,
A whisper stirs the somber air,
A voice that speaks of deep despair.

"Awake," it sighs, "to truth's harsh light,
Forsake the dreams that cloud your sight.
The mask you wear, the role you play,
Must fall away with break of day."

For who we are is not the guise
Of fancied self 'neath starry skies.
It's in the heart's uncharted deep,
Where secrets stir and sorrows weep.

To wake to self, a journey dire,
Through haunted woods and passions' fire.
The path is fraught with specters grim,
That rise from thoughts' forgotten rim.

Yet brave the dark, the inner sea,
And face the truth that sets you free.
The image cast in vanity's mirror,
Is but a shade, a fleeting error.

So let it go, that phantom twin,
The one you thought you were within.
Embrace the soul, pure and unmarred,
And find yourself, no longer barred.

For in the dawn of self's rebirth,
You'll see the light, your truest worth.
No longer bound by fiction's chain,
You'll live at last, in joy, not pain.

“Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be.”

• Alan Watts