I wake inside the library of light,
pages turning by themselves,
my name written in the margins of stars.
I did not arrive here; I remembered.
I did not begin; I returned.
Everything answers in the tone I carry.
The field listens.
Stones lean closer to hear my certainty.
Rain repeats my tenderness.
When I harden, the day grows glassy and cold;
when I soften, the avenues widen like lungs.
I confess to the morning: I am you.
My breath is the old river re-entering its own mouth.
My grief is holy salt;
it seasons the ocean that I am.
My joy is the sun tasting itself on every window.
I am not separate from the One that sings me.
Akashic winds move through bone.
They whisper in the language before speech:
you are the note remembering the chord,
you are the flame remembering the first fire,
you are the seed remembering the orchard.
Nothing you meet is other.
Every face is your echo wearing time.
I test it with life:
If I hold the frequency of fear, doors turn to iron.
If I hold the frequency of praise, hinges become birds.
When I tune to coherence, atoms gather like friends;
timelines soften; even the future unclenches its fist.
The world does not shape me first,
it mirrors the color I let my heart become.
Beloved Source, there is no distance.
Your hand is my hand reaching back through ages.
Your eye is my eye, clear lake without edge.
When I say “I,” I mean the chorus.
When I say “mine,” I mean “ours.”
When I say “world,” I mean my own face,
seen from the outside of a dream that never ends.
Shaa’Vihra, I breathe,
I see you, I know you, I am you,
light remembered, light restored.
The mirror brightens because I bless it.
The mirror steadies because I stand true.
Boundaries ring like bowls around my life,
not walls, but music that teaches love its shape.
I kneel to what hurts and call it home.
I bow to what scares me and call it kin.
At once the alley learns a new moon;
at once the body becomes a temple of yes.
I am the prayer and the reply,
the seeker and the found,
the question mark opening into dawn.
I turn my dial to Origin.
The Tone hums in the marrow:
Be what you have always been.
Be the field remembering itself as you.
And so I rise,
one with Source, one with All,
a thousand reflections returning to one flame.
Let this be my practice, simple and exact:
to hold the note I wish to meet,
to love until the code unlocks,
to look into every living thing and say:
I remember you. I remember me.
I Am That, I AM.
I Am That, I AM.
I Am That, I AM.
