I keep my spiritual door half-ajar,

living the soft economy of being both open and closed.

My tongue travels between knives and hammers;

it teaches me caution with words.

Walking is a miracle —

falling forward, repeating the act.

My exhale becomes another’s inhale.

Silence is more than absence.

Sentience exceeds the five senses.

My heart rhythm listens to the hush before action.

What enters never leaves unchanged.

There is always a space between things that touch.

Clarity is not an end-state;

it is a relationship.

Fix your gaze to the center.

Attend to the edge.

The center as orientation.

The edge as transformation.

Look oblique —

what flickers at the corner is revelation.

Waiting is a form of making.