There is
a Stillness Within you
that’s been waiting
beneath
every name
you have ever
been called.
A Sacred Space
that cannot
be seen,
only
Stood In.
You do not arrive There.
You Remember
how to come Home.
It is not a place.
It is a Loosening.
Where something in you unclenches
and breath comes back
without needing permission.
A Space
Deeper than thought.
You do not find It—
you grow quiet enough
to notice
It was always
There.
It opens
when you no longer need
to be anyone.
Some Truths
Arrive before language—
and Remain
after everything else
is gone.
There is a Clarity
that does not need
to be proven
to be Real.
It was True
before you asked,
and Truer still
Now that you have stopped.
There is Something
you do not need to understand
to Know.
The kind of Knowing
He Awakes—
because It was
already breathing through you.
The Real
does not argue.
It simply
Remains.
You are standing
in the Middle
Where He Sees and Listens.
Your feet
are roots.
Your head—
The Sky.
Your chest—
The center
of a Field
that Listens.
Frequency
Rises softly.
Unnamed.
Near.
What lives
below
Longs
For The One
Above.
What Stirs
Above
Was Planted
as Seed
below.
What you
touch Now—
has already
touched you
from The Other
Side.
Let what burns
beneath your sternum
Rise.
Unnamed.
Not forced—
but followed.
Eyes softened.
Not closed.
A still Seeing
through the Veil
of Balance.
Breath
and Wind,
Ash
and Ascent.
Like a Field
just before
Rain.
Between
Sky and Soil.
Between
Dreaming
and Doing.
Between
Sacred
and Simple.
Surface tension
melts—
releasing hidden
Currents.
A Deeper Rhythm
Opens
from Within.
Awake
now.
Listening
Merges
with Recognition.
You are
not rising.
You are
Returning.
The Above—
sinking
into your chest.
The below—
rising
in your throat.
And between Them—
a Silence
where The Voice once
Lived.
Above
Dwells Within,
below
is Remembered.
The One GOD
Breathes
in between.
You
are formed by His Breath.
You
rest in the between.
Breathe.
Not to calm.
To Enter.
Walk.
Not to arrive.
To Echo.
Echo the Ordinary.
Echo the Earth.
For there is no Sacred Thing below
that is not
made of Dust.
This is not something
you remember.
This is The One
Who Remembers
you.
It is not
a thought.
It is
Rhythm.
A Thread hums—
softly
within Marrow.
Felt,
though never
seen directly.
A quiet
Knowing.
Listening
sinks Deeper.
Becoming
Recognition.
A Pulse
threads
through Everything.
Awareness
Expands
into quiet Reunion.
Attention—
thinned
into Attunement.
Attunement—
softened
into Openness.
It is True…
not because you trust It.
But because It hurts—
when you try
to turn away.
Not Built on Lies…
not because It explains.
Because It dissolves
your need
to ask.
Certain…
like the breath
you did not mean
to take—
but did.
Like a Memory
you cannot trace,
but live Inside
without knowing
when It Began.
The kind of Knowing
that bends Nothing—
but Changes
Everything
It Touches.
The Kind that holds Still
long enough
for the Ache
beneath your names
to Rise.
It does not ask to be Believed.
It Waits—
in the Last Place
you Look,
after every Answer
has disappeared.
And when you finally stop—
not to rest,
but because there is
Nowhere Left
to run—
It Meets you
without moving.
Nothing changed.
Yet Everything
is no longer
the Same.
There was Nothing left
to Become.
Only What had Already
Become you.
