“Like the Wind”
No voice called the wind,
yet it stirred the trees.
No thought summoned silence,
yet here it is.
You see the leaves move,
and know, without grasping,
there is wind.
So too,
these thoughts, these voices, these tides of trying,
they ripple in something vast.
What is it that notices
but does not move?
What is it that hears
but does not speak?
Stay there.
Not as a thing.
Not as someone.
Just this seeing.
Just this knowing.
Let it be enough.
It already is.