It’s not that awareness isn’t here.
It’s more like the radio is on, but no one has tuned the dial.
Life moves. The body moves. Words happen.
But something essential feels missing — not broken, just unattended.
Like Pinocchio before he becomes real: carved, animated, functional…
yet not quite alive.
Then, without warning, the signal comes through.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to notice:
Oh… this is what being alive feels like.
Nothing changes on the outside.
The same room.
The same breath.
But the air has weight now.
Color deepens.
Sound arrives before its name.
It’s as if awareness has always been broadcasting,
and for a moment, the mind-body stops insisting on its own station
and lets itself receive.
I don’t do anything to make this happen.
I don’t hold it.
I don’t understand it.
I only stop interfering.
And when the signal fades — as it always does —
something remains.
Not knowledge.
Not certainty.
A memory in the body of what aliveness felt like
when it was allowed all the way in.
That memory changes how I live.
It softens my movements.
It alters my listening.
It makes morality unnecessary and care inevitable.
I may forget again.
But I now know the radio works.
And that life, when invited,
knows exactly how to play itself.
Spiritual Gravity 