Constantly changing are the winds — not just of weather, but of thought. Stirring the dust of old beliefs — scatter the pages of stories we were taught.

New thoughts rise like morning mist — soft and strange — unformed but true. Reality bends — perception twists — skies wearing a different hue.

Clung to the tales — heroes, villains, sacred scripts — now feel like costumes worn too long, threads unraveling at the fingertips.

Is it all fantasy?

A dream?

A divine construct dressed in flesh and time?

What I called truth in younger years — echoing now like a nursery rhyme. But this is not despair — shedding of skin — as the soul does not mourn its molting, it dances in the wind within.

So how do we write a new story that leads without leading — teaches without teaching — awakens without waking?

We become the mirror — not the map. We speak in symbols — not in steps. We offer silence where answers once stood — walking the path — letting others feel the wood.

The story is not told — it is lived — felt in the breath between words. It is the wind itself — changing — knowing — that comes when no one is watching.

~Ani Po

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh