Lie Down in the Changing

Lie down in the Changing.
Let the earth turn beneath you
and make no demand of it.
Let the world be strange,
and holy in its strangeness.

Breathe with the trees.
Breathe with the tide.
The world is not waiting for your certainty.
It is already holy
in its motion.

The leaf browns
as surely as it once unfurled—
and both are sacred.

Listen.
The wind does not ask
whether it builds or breaks.

Life does not grow simple—
it grows strange.
It grows intricate.
It braids river and rock,
nerve and nebula,
grief and ecstasy
into one widening pattern
of becoming.

You were not born into stillness.
You were born into a story
that began with chaos
and moved toward song.

This is sacred.
The rising web of life, the branching, the blooming,
the long patience of the seed cracking in darkness—
all of it is lit from within
by the Presence
that dances
wherever life leans forward.

You are not outside of this.
You are one thread
in the vast weaving.
The fire changes what it touches.
So does love.
So does time.
So does the Spirit moving in all things.

God is the force unfolding
in the complexity itself—
in the leap from single cell to symphony,
in the mind that awakens to beauty,
in the heart that burns with compassion
for things not yet healed.

Lie down in the Changing.
Feel how the Spirit breathes
through transformation.
How nothing is lost—
only remade.

Do not resist the tide.
Do not fear the fire.
This too is God—
the one who speaks
in atoms splitting,
in galaxies colliding,
in lovers forgiving,
in a child seeing wonder
where you saw only stone.

Lie down.
Let yourself be unmade.
Let yourself be remade.
You are in the holy
rising.