Before names were given
there was presence
before stories learned to speak
there was space
wide enough
for everything to arrive
without a word spoken
nothing was held back
nothing was held onto
there are unseen temples
built without stone
a silence gathers there
some hands do not carry
they make room
not by quieting the storm
but by widening the sky around it
there is a being
that seeks no disguise
it does not rescue
nor does it turn away
it keeps the door unlatched
while each soul finds
the courage to cross its own threshold
its strength is not in answers
but in staying
nothing is asked
nothing is taken
what is carried for another
becomes a weight too heavy for time
what is allowed to be
becomes its own unfolding
there is a kind of stillness
older than memory
where all becoming
is already complete
and still in motion
the oldest magic
has never been
to heal another
only to remain
so deeply present
that every wandering soul
hears the sound
of its own true footsteps
it knows
that roots cannot be pulled
into bloom
that every river
must learn its own current
in that vastness
nothing is saved
and nothing is lost
in that gentle space
hearts remember
they were always capable
of carrying themselves
the endless returning
of what has always been whole
°Woodlights Woudlicht
