THE GAME

Just a tiny ripple, maybe a little bubble,
Appearing, and appearing to disappear,
In the vast ocean,
Of a tiny planet
In a vast universe
Among parallel universes
Coursing along.

Or, a minuscule transducer,
Modulating engulfing, buffeting,
Waves of playful signals to Self. Or still,
A localized field of creating intelligence,
Of the One Intelligence,
About which locals are, largely, unintelligent,
Even as they use that in creating the present.

This holographic particle of the One Self --
Yes, this apparently non-descript piece,
Among pieces, similar in significance --
Fits into the perfect jigsaw puzzle. 
And, what a puzzle! But, why this puzzle --
This game -- by Self
And for Self?

Could it be that the game simply is,
If the player is?
Ripple, bubble, transducer, holograph: 
Are you submerged or surfaced, engulfed or conspicuous?
This journey, this game, it continues with you masquerades
Of the One Intelligence, along its unfathomed path.
What choice has anything but be part?

Sol. Ahiarah