A Poem on Connection Found In Transition

Something is shifting. Can you sense it?

Lately, I’ve been sensing something —
in others, in the world, and in myself.

At first it felt personal. But maybe it’s not.
Maybe it’s part of a larger turning we’re only just beginning to notice.

This poem is a gesture toward that feeling.

A deeper dive on this topic is coming later this Friday (stay tuned).

Still Ocean Water, Fiji (murmuration imagined)

Perhaps There Is a Connection

We feel it in our lives.
We see it in the world.
A rhythm beneath the noise.
Not loud,
but insistent.

There is a loosening,
an unfastening of the known.
An acceptance
of what was once held tight,
now with an open palm.

All around us,
questions move like weather.
And if we listen,
not for answers,
but for rhythm,
we may find
the next step 
waiting.

Like birds in vast murmurations,
there is no leader.
No command.
Only a subtle attunement
to something just beyond sight.

Each of us
sensing a shift
not yet begun,
but somehow 
already underway.
A season.
A turning.
Not just for a few of us.
Perhaps for all of us.

Is it only perception?
A gaze that sees change
in every direction?

Maybe.

But even that
feels like a door
we were meant to notice.

This is not a waiting room.
It is a workshop.
A place of forming.
Of earth beneath the nails,
clay on the wrists,
breath held
between what we were
and what we have yet to become.

Clarity will not arrive
as a clean conclusion.
It will arrive as atmosphere,
as a fog lifting
just enough
to take the next step.

And even when
the path remains unclear,
we move anyway.

So look around.
Notice the way
the trees lean.
How the birds already know.

If something in you is stirring,
stay close.
You are not alone.

Let presence
become your way of walking.
Let meaning
slow your breath.
Let connection
undo your grip on control.

We don’t need to solve it all.
But we can
touch this moment with wonder,
speak with less armor,
and move with more of our soul.

Fall —
not to stumble,
but to fall in love
with what is becoming.

And maybe we will find that
we are not falling apart.
We are falling into place.

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Note: This piece was written, recorded, and scheduled ahead of time. I’m currently on a silent retreat without access to technology, so I won’t see your comments right away. However, I look forward to reading and responding when I am back in the first week of May.

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Background music in audio by Christian Löffler.