The Root Of The Mystery

Before thought, before effort, before language—
there is something else.

A pulse. A pattern.
The unseen choreography of becoming.

It’s what turned a single cell into your entire body.
What sequenced your spine, cued your breath,
and taught your heart to beat without a single lesson.

This is the root of the mystery.
The intelligence that grows forests and fingerprints alike.
It lives in the marrow of the world—
and in you.

It knows how to repair.
How to reorient.
How to evolve.

You don’t need to command it.
You only need to stop overriding it.
To listen.

When you soften into its rhythm,
you remember:
you are not separate from life.
You are made of its wisdom.

This isn’t poetry.
It’s physiology.
It’s the way your body organizes chaos into coherence,
moment after moment,
without asking for applause.

You are not here to outthink the mystery.
You are here to move with it.

Because what made you,
still moves you.

And it is—always—on your side.