Who am I to say?
To name something, to place a value, to determine anything at all about what’s taking place here.
Here in this life, on this sphere.
I don’t think we can.
I cannot.
These thoughts and terms, our simple human reactions.
They are so silly sometimes. To experience. To face later. To understand.
I feel myself rejecting what we think we know. Like a foreign body embedded. A transplant that isn’t working.
Back into something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar.
Not uncomfortable.
Sheltered.
More like coming home. A quieter, more still flow of being. The feeling of placidity without the mind making an idea that things are placid.
Serene. Who am I to say what’s going on here?
Amidst this noisy hustle we’ve made.
These masterpieces of chaos. Fluidity. Disorder. Platitudes.
Falling through weariness into surrender and feeling renewed.
Quiet. Humming in symbiosis. So far to go.
Grace, and ease.
Photo by Tania Malréchauffé on Unsplash
