Hue are

The vast quiet stretches out.
Aquestion mark hangingin the air I breathe.
Is this what it’s called?
Afeeling.
Ashape I can’t quite name.
But I am here.
Standing,
or maybe just existing,
in this space.
And for that,
for this breath,
this awareness,
Iam grateful.
Even if it’s just me.
Alone.
But here.
Iam here.
And the overwhelming vastnessdoesn't quite erasethe fact of my presence.
It's a strange comfort,
this solitary state.
No echoes but my own thoughts,
no reflections but the ones
Icast upon myself.
Itry not to measure up.
Against what, I’m not sure.
Some imagined perfect,
a polished stoneuntouched by the rough edges of being.
But I am not that.
Iam here.
With my cracks and my shadows,
my hurried stepsand my lingering doubts.
Iam here.
My imperfections are not a hiding place,
but a landscape.
Aterrain I navigatewith the compass of my own heart.
And the welming,
this deep,
unfolding sense ofwhat isand what is not,
it washes over me.
Not to drown,
but to cleanse.
To reveal.
That even in this quiet,
in this solitary stand,
there is a pulse.
Arhythm.
Mine.
This is a question.
This is a feeling.
This is me.
And I am here.
Grateful for the simple truthof my own being.
Not perfect.
Never perfect.
But here.
And that is enough.
More than enough.
Aquiet triumphin the grand expanse.
Asingle star,
shining its own light.
Lost, perhaps,
in the immensity,
but found,
deep within myself.
Here.

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