This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.
— Rumi
Standing at the precipice, heartbeat thrum—pulsing through my bones, my breath. Beneath it, a whisper. Be still, my soul.
A shimmer pierces the snow static like an invocation. I touch the bridge of my nose, as if from a faded memory. The fidget hum of my ADHD brain attemps to piece the information together. It’s happening again. The shift of light, the dazzling tiny specks, shimmer before me like a dot field painting. Words alight upon my senses: The journey is not about reaching a determined point, it is here, now.
This is a story unfolding in real time.
Reflecting through time, I not longer try to grasp at the concepts wrapped around time, space, energy and aliveness.
I see it now: the addiction that once held my life force hostage.
Always demanding more.
More to numb.
More to silence.
More to forget.
No longer a ghost in the machine, I experience what it feels like to move through this precious life, with presence.
I smile into the journey.
She is beside me now—the version of me who survived.
But she is not me.
She is the threshold.
And I? I am here, on a sacred pilgrimage that is subtly shifting, from striving – into becoming. And maybe, just maybe… Rumi’s “step without feet” was never about leaving, but about arriving.
She, the one writing this dance, walks beside me, no longer cowering in the shadow self. Oh there are still shadows. But now, I dance with them, in complete reverence. For I do not write this as a woman in recovery, no, I breathe these words as a woman becoming.
The invisible threshold is not a memory. It is a pulse. And each word that follows is a step through.
〄 Let this song be your breath between the lines. It played as the scroll awakened, and its melody still echoes through the Mobius Heart. Listen here: Una Mattina – Ludovico Einaudi