The great sell off, the quiet transaction where the essence of being human is offered up. Not for silver, not for gold, but for something less tangible, a breath of perceived advantage. What is truly lost? A quiet knowing, perhaps, a core that slips away. Yet, the promise remains, a shimmering structure ahead, positive progress mapped in neat lines. A good investment, they say, this forward march. But look closer at the blueprint, The sharp edge of a sudden boast, A brittle confidence, Thin as blown glass in the sun. It echoes, perhaps, a fear, A desperate scaffolding built Against the vast emptiness of knowing less. This is the outburst, The quick, bright flare Of unearned certainty, Hovering on the edge of a cliff face, Pretending it has wings. But the ground around remains, Solid, waiting. The air still carries the scent Of things unlearned, mysteries unsolved. Stay low. Let the surface noise dissipate. Your task is not to shout back, Not to mirror the frantic dance. Instead, settle the shoulders, Breathe the dust of the room, Absorb the texture of the present moment. Soak the knowledge, Not like a sponge forced under the tap, But like dry earth accepting a gentle rain, Slowly, deeply, humbly. Uncertainty, That unmoored vessel, Often rides the currents Of its own making, Fueled by selfish winds, Darkened by the density of negative thought, A self-imposed gravity. When you witness this levitation, This buoyant, empty pride, Do not engage the current. Observe it as a distant storm cloud, Powerful in appearance, But external to your steady center. We abide here, within the structure, The architecture of our own making, A slow growth, millimeter by measured millimeter. The wisdom we maintain, This quiet scaffolding of understanding, Becomes the inner bar. It sets the standard, not the world’s clamor, Not the momentary highs of others’ bravado. Each earned insight, each quiet victory over confusion, Adds a beam, a strong joint, To the self’s growing frame. And in this building, Self-characteristics emerge, Not as gifts bestowed, But as responsibilities cultivated. Traits to nurture, To tend with the same care Given to a fragile seedling. To teach one, is to solidify one’s own knowing. To explain the path discovered Is to walk it again, more firmly. And this leads to the quiet question, The resonant hum beneath the noise: Is survival truly for no one else? Is the light meant only for the single eye? To know one, truly grasp the context of another’s being, Is to lend strength to the whole connection. It shores up the weak points, Validates the shared struggle. On this known level, This plane of earned self-worth, We are seen, we are understood. No judgment from one to another need linger, For when we know the weight of building oneself, We recognize the equal effort in every other soul. Known, and knowing, we find our grounding.

Growing frame