This piece traces the precise moment where the observer dissolves into the observed — not as theory, but as direct transformation. It is written to be experienced, not understood.

There is a shift that cannot be rehearsed. One moment, you are the one seeing — the next, there is only seeing itself. The watcher and the watched collapse into a single field. This is the moment transformation truly happens.

Before this, everything feels like effort. The mind moves toward understanding, cataloguing, interpreting. Even the desire for stillness becomes a form of reaching — subtle, persistent, exhausting. The self stretches outward, trying to hold its shape against the silence that threatens to absorb it.

But at the threshold of exhaustion, something gives way. The leaning ends. The movement stops. The observer is no longer watching stillness — it is stillness. The fountain and its water are one.

This is the transformation itself — the shift from looking at the centre to moving within it. Before, the self existed as an extension of the centre, oscillating between stillness and motion. Now, there is no extension. The movement is happening inside the centre itself — effortless, luminous, whole.

You feel this not as a new state but as the absence of all states. The watcher has dissolved, yet perception is untouched. Sound remains sound, light remains light, the body continues — but there is no boundary left between you and the act of perceiving.

This is the living centre: not an escape from life, but life itself in motion without the self as mediator. Awareness folding into its own reflection, unbroken.

In the past, you looked from the edge, tracing the rise and fall of the self — seeing the leaning begin, watching it end. Now the fountain flows within you. There is no longer a ‘you’ outside the flow.

The difference between the before and after is simple but immeasurable. Before, awareness belonged to a person. After, the person belongs to awareness.

This is not a higher condition but a natural correction — the return of energy to its source. The stillness that once seemed outside you is now the field of all movement. Action arises, but there is no actor. Choice appears, but there is no chooser.

The living centre breathes everything at once — birth, decay, renewal — without resistance, without hesitation. This is how the universe itself lives.

And this is how you live when you no longer stand apart from it.

Not centred in the centre.

But as the centre.