The Mystery Reveals Itself

I don’t know what I’m looking at.
Not with my eyes, and not with my mind.

It starts like that: an unknown density, something completely impenetrable. I can’t label it, explain it, or describe it - and I don’t try to. But I feel it. I register the impact in my system before I know what anything is.

It’s not scary, but it’s big.
It washes over me.
And I know - it’s something.

So I tune in.
Eyes wide open. Ears wide open.
I take notes, not because I know what I’m doing, but because something is doing me.
This is how I get to know. Through translation. Through presence. Through words as a bridge to energy.

I don’t look for answers. I don’t even try to look in the right direction.
I just stay available.

And slowly, the pieces begin to form.
Not because I’m trying to make sense of it, but because the field wants to be known.
It’s building itself in me.
The parts drift into view like deer in the woods - one moment not there, the next moment fully there. And I don’t chase them. I don’t prepare for them. But I notice. And in that noticing, something beautiful is happening.

I didn’t invent this way of seeing.
The mystery gave it to me.
It showed me how it wants to be revealed.

And now that I know, I don’t have to try.
I just stay open.
That’s enough.