It’s strange, isn’t it—this feeling of being?
Here you are, a distinct, discernible you.
A thread pulled from the endless expanse of the all,
woven into form, long enough to stand apart
and see the dance.
The sky, vast and untouchable, calls you to look up.
Clouds drift in ways that defy understanding,
shapes forming and dissolving,
their beauty so immense it almost hurts.
You watch, you marvel, and for a moment,
you forget the strangeness of being.
But the strangeness is always there, isn’t it?
That quiet hum beneath your thoughts,
a reminder that you are not whole, not here forever.
And yet, without this separateness, without you,
there is no marvel, no wonder.
In the oneness, there is only the stillness of the all—
no movement, no experience, no eyes to see or heart to stir.
Here, you can see. You can feel the wind press against your skin,
the sun’s warmth spilling over the earth,
and all the while, the dance unfolds before you.
There is a price for this, yes.
Separation, the unsettling distance from what you once were,
the pull of the infinite you’ve left behind.
It’s always there, like a whisper in the back of your mind,
reminding you that you are only here for a breath,
a moment.
But don’t let that whisper consume you.
You are here, now. Attend to this,
to the waves crashing in rhythm with your pulse,
to the sky as it shifts from light to dark.
Feel the ground beneath your feet.
Taste the air, heavy with salt and life.
This is what it means to be, to witness.
Yes, the separation is strange, perhaps even uncomfortable,
but it is the price of marvel.
The oneness holds you, but it is here, in this brief span of time,
that you can stand in awe, that you can say:
I see, I hear, I feel.
Don’t rush back to the oneness just yet.
Let the mystery of this moment pull you deeper.
Even in the strangeness, there is beauty,
a beauty you could never know without being here,
without being you.
Marvel at that, and let it be enough.