Morning Meditation | The Veil Thins
Sitting. Noticing.
Listening to the faint drumbeat of the breath.
Feeling the weight of the body, the ache of being, the pull of gravity. Breathing out the dust of stars.
Calling out the Old Ones:
Antlered, ash-faced, crowned in flame. They dance in the marrow of the cosmos. They chant in equations. They burn the veil between breath and void. They are the collapsing star. They are the serpent eating its own name. They are the echo of fire. They are the silence after the scream.
Sitting. Noticing.
Returning to the breath.







