I looked away, but you remained, and when my gaze returned, I saw you at last. The same; yet transformed. For it was my vision that had changed. Not my eyes but my way of seeing. How often I had looked upon you, how many ways I had regarded you, and yet not seen. Not like this. Not with this power. Not with such grace.

I have wept oceans for you, sunk to my knees in the dirt, wished to evaporate in your embrace – but not as I do now.

What I have long known, I know again. It is the same bell. Your beautiful wave. So eternal. So absent. It lifts me up without hands. Speaks without voice. In the hollow of your glory your compassion fills me. Now we have no need of name, nor form. We move now without destination. Not as dancers but as the dance.

Nothing has changed, yet everything is different. We are as we are, yet not. And in this, we are free. For we have surrendered all anchors for the liberty of stillness.