Where Ease Finds Me

A frozen moment in time

I didn’t crawl here,
didn’t bargain or bruise my knees,
didn’t white-knuckle heaven
or try to outwork my worth.

I just arrived,
mid-laundry, mid-breath, mid-life,
and ease was already there,
sitting like it knew me,
like it set a bowl before me
without asking what I’d brought to offer.

I said I’m open,
not obedient, not erased,
just open in the way a room is open
when the windows are cracked,
the curtains are moving,
and the sound arrives on its own
without being summoned.

The old reflex still twitched,
threading the moment with its old wires of fear,
whispering rules in a language I no longer practice—
don’t spill the light, don’t disturb the stillness,
don’t forget the careful steps you learned to take.

But alignment doesn’t rush or instruct.
It sways.
It waits for the shoulders to soften,
the jaw to release,
the breath to fall back into itself
like it remembers the way.

So I let the quiet move around me,
let the day hum instead of demand,
let the knowing settle
the way dust settles when no one keeps walking through the room.

If there’s something to do,
it will meet me where my feet already are.
If there’s something to become,
it’s already unfolding,
turning me gently
from what I thought I was carrying
toward what has been carrying me.

Today didn’t ask for sacrifice.
It offered companionship,
and I met it awake,
whole, curious, still myself,
standing at the clean edge of a life
that has already turned—
and in that instant, something flared, unseen,
a shimmer through the marrow, a quiet ignition,
as if the universe exhaled inside my skin,
rewriting me in its own bright language,
each cell astonished to be alive.