The One That Watches

He sat by the river, not in search of answers, but simply because the questions had stopped shouting.

Once, not long ago, he had run wild through the temples of the world, through chants and mantras, through logic and longing, chasing the idea of salvation as if it were hidden behind some sacred curtain.

But now?

Now he watched the ripples.

They moved because something moved them.

They disappeared because something absorbed them.

And in between, only the watching.

It dawned on him, not as a thunder, but like a quiet scent in the air.

He had mistaken the rituals for the truth.

He had mistaken the path for the home.

He had mistaken the effort for grace.

“When Self dreams, Soul takes birth. When Soul dreams, the Body takes birth.”

That line, it came back to him. Not from a scripture. But from his own silence.

He smiled.

Was he the body? Was he the soul? Or was he the dreamer of both?

The world kept moving. Laughter rang from a child across the riverbank. A crow cawed with no concern for spiritual metaphors. The sun, unbothered, rose again.

And he, the watcher, remained. Not needing to act holy, nor reject the play. He didn’t need to dissolve the illusion. He only had to stop clinging to it.

“Go the way you came,” the inner voice said.

Not as an instruction. But as a remembering.

He wondered, maybe awakening is not about reaching somewhere new, but about finally realizing you’ve never left home.

Beyond silence, there is no truth waiting.

There is only you, without your masks.

The One that watches.

If these words stirred something in you, pause for a moment and let the silence sit beside you.

And if something echoed back, even faintly, feel free to whisper it here.

A silence. A breath. A remembering.

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© 2025 Beyond Silence. Written by "the one listening."

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