Every Time I Notice It

This way the Spirit greets me—
the way breath moves,
no thinking about it.

The way awareness rises,
and falls at the horizon,
no thinking about it,
before the words come
to dress the private truth,
no thinking about it.

Not a labor,
not a framework—
just a quiet seed of knowing
radically rooted and reaching toward Presence
already there,
already moving,
already speaking
in the small shifting
and flows of my temple cadence.

Care and love come to warm me,
and the grammar follows—
symbolic trails,
frequency wobbles,
a humming beneath wholeness.

The way Mercy delights the edges
when dogmas melt away,
and the gentle leading of the wind
touches the deeper place
where I am simply alive
and I can sense kindness drawing near.

No need for liturgy,
no ideology,
no pressure from the crowd—
just the living I am,
and the living me
in the living moment.

This peace-filled union refuses a name,
but calls me home
every time I notice it.