listening in the folds and falling
what’s found in the stillness of nothing
Usually when I sit down to write to you, ideas tumble around me asking to play. Often there are so many at once that it’s hard to choose which ones to follow onto the page. Today, the ideas are resting. I feel their presence—thick folds of tapestry, nested and still. I hear: There is nothing to say. Rest with us and listen.
So I do. I sit with a pencil and an empty page and let the stillness meet me. Let it unwrap my efforts and bathe me in softness.
I follow the swirling and pulse. I find a sensation in the heart of my body, see a curved bowl across the field of my chest, feel it heavy, rooted, and open wide.
I stay here with the empty bowl and listen.
The sky folds into my body and I fall into ocean.
A sea turtle carries me on her back as Mother Octopus wraps me in her cloak, tendrils flowing as wings.
I gasp in awe at what I see. There are millions of us here… you and me, those we know and those we’ve yet to meet.
We are soaring ocean stars, weaving and singing together. The vibration of it, the texture, the dimensions of light… this isn’t memory… this is something entirely new.
Each of us small and connected by threads that arc through our heartfields.
That bowl I felt across my chest… its form appeared to end at the edges of my body. But my lens was partial and skewed. It’s not a bowl at all and it doesn’t end.
We are not bound by the edges of our bodies.
How we see, listen, learn, and create lives as liquid light—a dynamic connection beyond anything we currently notice, name, or know as connection.
Our not-knowing is essential for its design. Transformation emerges as we let go of individual effort to “try to” connect. There is nothing to do. There is nothing to want. There is nothing to explain.
We let “I don’t know” unfurl from our tongues. We pause and allow the soft wrapping of unraveling.
We let the sky fold into us and we fall into the whole of who we are, together.
Thank you, rest and nest of ideas. Thank you, still and slow. Thank you, empty and oh, so full.
as delight, Melissa
