Words lose their weight when there are so many of them— meanings stacked upon meanings, asking to be solved.
We are taught to search outward, to follow the trail of signs through newsfeeds and screens, angels and numbers, threads and timelines— as if truth lives everywhere except where we stand.
In the quiet intelligence of the gut, the steady knowing of the heart, the soft clarity of the mind.
We overlook the subtle language— the flutter, the gasp, chills along the spine, a yawn, goosebumps, sparks, ringing ears. We call them random, dismiss them as noise, unworthy of meaning.
Perhaps they are not.
Perhaps they are messages from a deeper place, whispered, not shouted.
Pause.
Notice the thought, the word, the movement that came before. Do not dismiss— fall silent.
Step away.
Be.
What do you hear?
What do you feel?
What do you smell, know, see?
Embrace it.
Trust it.
You do not need to understand. Understanding arrives with time, with listening again and again, until clarity opens its eyes and says, How did I not know this?
Ah.
Clarity comes from many sources, but always from stillness.
I am peace.
I command stillness.
I am here.