All that is, leans upon what’s beneath,
what’s above,
alongside,
as a chain not forged but breathed,
each link a trembling now that cannot
hold its own weight,
cannot say I am alone without the
whisper below,
the necessary voice that threads the vertical
like light colouring through stacked glass,
each pane a shimmering world,
each world a borrowing,
and nothing in this intricate cascade of being
possesses what it did not first receive:
the stone its density,
the river its flight of unravelling,
the bird its hollow bone of soaring — all held in
sheer dependency so intimate it is indistinguishable from love,
this hierarchy not of command but of bestowal,
where to exist is to be held close,
and to be held is to confess there is the holding
that requires no hand above it,
no chain beyond,
no future asking,
only the one who does not lean,
who does not borrow,
who is the ground beneath the ground,
the giving before the gift,
the un-contingent centre from which each contingent
moment draws its deepest breath and finds,
astonished,
it is here,
alive.

 

20/3/2026