I close my eyes and sit in stillness. Thoughts rise and fall like waves, forming patterns, ideas, philosophies—just as prayers weave together to shape religion. Each thought is a note, brief and fleeting, yet part of something larger. A single prayer might seem insignificant, just as a single note drifts away into silence, but together, they create a melody, a structure, a foundation of meaning.
I listen, and in the space between thoughts, something else emerges. A presence, a grace—not in the form of grand revelations, but like staccato notes, brief bursts of knowing. They do not stay long, but they are real. Yet, without the space between them, without the silence, their meaning would be lost. It is only in contrast to what is not there that I begin to understand what is.
Like sound traveling through air, grace moves unseen. A jet breaking the speed of sound rushes toward me faster than its own noise can arrive. The roar I expect is behind it, trailing in the past. And so it is with presence—sometimes I feel it only after it has passed, in the echo it leaves behind.
I breathe. The breath itself is unseen, yet it sustains me. Just as air particles vibrate to create sound, just as prayers rise to form something greater, each breath is part of a deeper rhythm. I let myself dissolve into it—not as an idea, not as a thought to analyze, but as an experience. The breath breathes me.
And in this stillness, beyond sound, beyond thought, beyond the edges of philosophy and prayer, I simply am.
Spiritual Gravity 