There is a stillness I never knew existed — the kind that doesn’t arrive with fanfare or effort. It slips in quietly, between the noise and the need, between wanting and not wanting. A pause. A space. A soft breath that asks nothing of me.
I first noticed it after a particularly intense meditation session. I wasn’t trying to find anything. I had stopped trying. And in that surrender, something shifted. Not a revelation. Not a vision. Just silence — but a silence that felt alive.
We often chase awakening like a destination. We make it a project, a goal. But what if it’s already here, waiting in the cracks we overlook? In the moment you exhale without holding tension. In the second your eyes rest on the light falling through the curtains. In the knowing that you don’t need to be anything more.
This pause — between two breaths — is where I remember.
I remember that I am not broken. I am not behind. I am not late.
I am simply here.
And here is enough.
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