Before the alarm. Before the list. Before the weight of all you owe descends like weather — there is a moment. Small. Easily missed.
The space between sleeping and the beginning of becoming who you have to be today.
In that space you are nobody's anything. Not a job title. Not a diagnosis. Not the sum of what you have done or failed to do.
Just this. Just here. Just the breath that knows the way home without asking directions.
You don't have to earn this. You don't have to deserve it. The stillness doesn't check your record before it lets you in. It was waiting for you. It is always waiting. Come.
— Free Your Mind
This poem is an invitation — not a description of somewhere you need to get to, but a pointing at something that is already here. The stillness it describes is not the absence of noise. It is the presence of what you are beneath the noise.
You can return to it anytime. The moment before you reach for your phone in the morning. The three breaths before a difficult conversation. The pause between one thought and the next.
The stillness is not somewhere else. It is the ground you are standing on right now.
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