THE PLACE WHERE I COULD APPEAR

I went looking for the thought

and found no road.

I asked the wind where it had gone.

The wind laughed,

for nothing had traveled.

I asked the wave why it moved.  

It laughed for it was the water in the same place. 

I asked the light how quickly it came.

The light said,

You are still measuring distance.

So I became quiet.

Not empty—

available.

And somewhere between

the one who sees

and the thing that is seen,

the world loosened its grip

on what had been.

There was no arrival.

There was an alignment.

And suddenly

what could not be spoken

was speaking through me.

I did not create it.

How could the cup

claim to have created the rain?

I had merely turned my open mouth

toward the sky.

Then I understood the Fulcrum.

It is not the place

where opposites balance.

It is the place

where what could be

becomes able to appear.

And the instant it appears,

the Fulcrum is gone—

not lost,

but already trembling

at the threshold

of what can appear next.

Perhaps this is why

the universe never finishes.

Every revelation

moves the doorway.

Every answer

changes the one who asked.

Every manifestation

rearranges the field

from which the next wonder

may arise.

And perhaps inspiration

is only this:

I did not summon the thought.

I did not chase it.

I did not make it mine.

I aligned myself

to the place

where it could manifest.

And there—

without traveling,

without arriving,

without ever having been absent—

it was 

and my becoming became. 

No past, no present...just next.

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