This morning
there was a catch in my throat.
Not resistance to presence.
Protection of momentum.
Somewhere in the wiring
my body learned:
If I stop — I stall.
If I slow — I fall.
Last night proved the pattern.
TV glow.
Energy low.
Drought.
Hard to restart.
Old wiring says:
Keep moving.
Don't pause.
Don't breathe too long.
But this morning rewrote it.
I stopped.
Sat.
Listened.
Heat through the vent.
Chair against my back.
Tractor beeping somewhere in the distance.
Space between sounds.
No urgency.
No collapse.
Just… peace.
Absence.
Spaciousness.
Room.
And from that room
something subtle returned.
Not hype.
Not grind.
Not force.
Momentum.
Slow is fast.
Not motivational poster fast.
Mechanical fast.
When I stop fighting the moment,
the moment stops fighting me.
And then it moves.