a sign, or a loud thunderclap of meaning, but as a pulse, a faint shimmer on the edge of understanding, more like how a window sees the weather or a river sees stones. One perceives life’s truths, not as revelations but as slow, uncoiling recognition that aligns with presence; witness the world’s beauty, its boundless…

the hollowness that receives the world’s noise, the resonance chamber for all its discord and harmony; in this state one is neither the observer nor the observed, rather the event itself… © KD.W.Heim 

so often imagined as a fortress or container, dissolve into the breeze, the slow drift of pollen, the immense and ceaseless exchange between leaf and sun, a porous membrane between all things, the place where substance and possibility meet, where life’s exhalations pass through me as if through a wind swept corridor in the heart…

when i am open and emptied, when i stands at the edge of my own being, stripped of every foregone conclusion, every wish to understand or shape what comes. It is not a negation or an absence, but a fullness that cannot be owned or directed, a readiness that is its own invitation. When i…

and  now is always running away. The heart betrays the intellect;  what else, after all, is a heart for? the real face, the unrepeatable truth,  lives underneath all the costume changes, the script revisions, the sweetened versions  of the one and only… © KD.W.Heim

the obvious truths; the intricate, inimitable essence of being in the fullness of now with all its possibilities… © KD.W.Heim

 each clamour for attention, brandishing their trophies and warnings; one might feel a tenderness for the way time appears to destroy and accumulate, the way it drinks youth and leaves behind a sediment of wisdom … © KD.W.Heim

not as a theory or a prescription but as a living organism inhabiting here now; to be alive, feeling even when the moment hurts, because at least the feeling is honest.  The present is not a thing to endure or outrun, but a locus of possibility, every second pregnant with its own fragile kind of…

sometimes drifting gently on its surface, sometimes thrashing against the undertow. Along a shared path, raw candour is the currency and the code: neither spare the hard questions nor flinch from the difficult answers and even the smallest insight is examined, held up to the light… © KD.W.Heim