I sit, feeling the weight of my body settle into the ground, every vertebra aligning like stones carefully stacked one on top of the other. My breath weaves through me, a thread pulling together fragments of thought and sensation. As I come to the fork in the road, I don’t choose one path or the other but instead spiral between them—mind and body, thought and sensation, interweaving endlessly. The breath guides me, not to a decision but to the act of moving through the fork again and again, spiraling deeper.
Each turn brings new awareness. The first is subtle, the hum of air moving through my nose. Then, my muscles begin to respond, softening, releasing. It feels like slipping into a warm, furry cocoon—comforting, hot, and alive. A flush spreads through me, not sudden, but as if the light of my breath melts the rigidness of muscle and bone. The warmth expands, wrapping me like heated fur against a cold day.
The fork remains present in every moment. One path brings me to the sensations—the hum, the heat, the softening of tissues letting go. Another path brushes against thoughts, ideas, insights, but I never stay there too long. My breath spirals me back, bringing the two into union. The awareness builds with each turn, becoming brighter, hotter, more vibrant.
I feel my spine straighten, the weight of my body sinking into the earth as my awareness rises upward. The warmth concentrates at the crown of my head, an opening where inside meets outside. I dive into that space, falling inward and outward at once, the heat spilling through every pore and filling me. Each atom of skin feels alive, vibrating, letting go.
And then, something shifts. The light and warmth, once confined to my skin, expand outward. It’s no longer me alone. The sensation spills into the space around me, wrapping me in an invisible layer—thicker than air, like the snow frosting the tips of branches in the morning light. My awareness spirals again, the fork still present. I dive back inward, heat pooling at my center, only to rise and spiral outward again, each pass deepening the connection.
Inward, outward, inside, outside—the pattern flows, each turn blurring the boundaries between the two. My body feels both heavy and light, the core stable and the edges dissolving. Heat, sensation, thought, breath—everything merges into a living spiral, a dance that extends beyond me, into everything. The fork becomes not a choice but a rhythm, a way of being in the spiraling awareness of all that is.
Spiritual Gravity 