Resting in the Space Before Something
There was a sense of floating.
Not drifting toward anything.
Simply floating.
Weightless.
A musical note.
An umbrella.
A baseball.
A cloud.
Each complete.
Each separate.
Each moving through open space.
For a while my whole body floated that way.
Then even that dissolved.
There was a body.
There was a mind.
Not quite together.
Just two more movements sharing the same openness.
Then thoughts appeared.
Not stories.
Just thoughts.
Like individual notes waiting to become music.
One thought touched another.
A curve found its matching curve.
Pieces recognized one another.
They joined.
Then another joined.
Soon there were phrases.
Then stories.
Then a familiar character quietly assembled from all those pieces.
Me.
It felt solid.
Continuous.
As though it had always been there.
Yet nothing new had been added.
Only connections.
The spaces were still there.
I had simply stopped seeing them.
And what remained looked solid enough to call “me.”
Then the spaces became visible again.
Not because the thoughts vanished.
Not because the stories stopped.
Simply because the silence between them became visible again.
Like hearing the quiet between musical notes.
The music remained.
But now the silence belonged to it.
Perhaps this is what freedom feels like.
Not escaping the stories.
Not stopping thought.
Simply remembering the openness from which every thought appears…
and into which every thought returns.
Resting,
for just a moment,
in the space before something.
Spiritual Gravity 