Embodiment

Something felt.
Something lived.
In the body.

Not as reaction,
but as beginning.

An act of love.
But no longer blind.
A conscious gesture
rooted in sensation.

It doesn’t start with opinions.
Not with thoughts.
Not even with feelings.

It begins before.
In experience.

A breath,
taken slowly.
Filling the chest,
spreading through the ribs,
releasing the tension of explanation.

Skin.
Air.
Bark.
Stone.
Water.
Touch.

A contract of care
not signed,
but sensed.
A pact made through presence alone.

An organic way of seeing,
where the body doesn’t watch —
it listens.

And what it listens to
is otherness.
Not abstract,
but alive.

And within that contact,
something quiet begins.
Something shared.
Like a solitary voice,
suddenly echoed.