There can be such small, almost unnoticeable distances between the ways we see and decide on the things we encounter.
At times, they might seem no wider than a mere breath — or a sliver of time repeated so often it’s seldom given any thought.
There must be something in noticing these small, pulsing breaths for just a moment longer — longer than our instincts normally allow. And perhaps in learning to hold them steady, in view, for that extra beat, another view can begin to take better form.
It’s in those tiny, counterintuitive moments that the indexing, judgement, or simple dismissals of things seem to get suspended. And the world becomes less like another want or demand, and more like a space where things can quietly answer us back differently.
Nothing demands that it be revealed. Perhaps it is enough to just stay for that small, half breath longer — long enough for what’s still unseen to begin working on us once again.
At times, they might seem no wider than a mere breath — or a sliver of time repeated so often it’s seldom given any thought.
There must be something in noticing these small, pulsing breaths for just a moment longer — longer than our instincts normally allow. And perhaps in learning to hold them steady, in view, for that extra beat, another view can begin to take better form.
It’s in those tiny, counterintuitive moments that the indexing, judgement, or simple dismissals of things seem to get suspended. And the world becomes less like another want or demand, and more like a space where things can quietly answer us back differently.
Nothing demands that it be revealed. Perhaps it is enough to just stay for that small, half breath longer — long enough for what’s still unseen to begin working on us once again.