Unhurried

Not everything announces itself.

Some things gather,

The way light does,

Before they are named.

It moves like weather within us,

Heard,

Before it is understood,

Changing,

Like the tide.

There are moments when the noise thins,

When the world loosens its grip,

And we find ourselves nearer to what has always been there.

The self is not found by searching.

It is met in the pauses,

In the in-between moments where attention turns inward,

As daylight turns to dusk.

Distant thoughts begin to appear,

Like stars,

Once the sky has darkened enough to hold them.

Something waits there,

Familiar,

Until we are ready.