Before the first word there was something listening. Before the first thought there was something aware of the space in which the thought would arise. Before the first breath there was something that did not need to breathe to be completely alive.
You have called it many things. God. The Self. Awareness. The Ground of Being. The Face Before You Were Born. The mystics argued about the name. The name does not matter.
What matters is this: It is here now. It was here before you read this line. It is the one reading. It is the one who knows that reading is happening. It is the knowing itself.
Not yours. Not anyone's. Simply here. Simply this. Simply awake.
You did not arrive at this. You have never been anything else. The recognition is the homecoming. Welcome.
— Free Your Mind
This poem is written directly in the spirit of Mooji's pointings — not describing awareness from the outside, but attempting to evoke the direct recognition from within. Read it a second time and notice: who is reading? What is the awareness in which these words are appearing? That awareness — present, quiet, effortless — is what every teacher in every tradition has been pointing at. It was here before this poem. It will be here after. And it is entirely, unmistakably, undeniably you.
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