There is a dial within you,
At its center rests balance,
And yet,
Balance is never still.
The needle sways,
It leans into effort,
It falls into ease,
It tilts toward urgency then drifts toward escape.
Notice this,
Balance is not a single point to hold forever,
Balance is motion,
Balance is the conversation between opposites.
Imagine yourself standing before this dial,
The face is wide like the horizon,
The needle is alive,
It quivers,
It drifts,
It sways back.
At times it races,
Wild and restless,
At times it hovers,
Fragile and quiet.
You do not command it,
But you do witness it,
And in the act of witnessing,
You begin to guide.
Perhaps today the needle leans heavy toward striving,
Pulled by weight and duty,
Or maybe it sinks toward retreat,
Tempted by avoidance or silence.
Wherever it points,
There is no judgment.
The needle only tells the truth of this moment.
Now begin to notice its rhythm,
Back and forth,
Effort and release,
Control and surrender,
Push and pull,
The dance is endless.
And so,
The practice is not to freeze the needle in the center,
The practice is to return with it,
Again and again,
Each time it sways.
Picture yourself reaching out,
Not with hands,
But with awareness itself.
A presence that steadies,
A presence that does not shove,
Does not force,
Only the lightest touch,
A quiet influence,
Enough to bring the needle closer to balance.
This is the art,
Too heavy and the rhythm shatters,
Too absent and the needle drifts without you.
Balance lives here.
It's the delicate act of noticing,
Responding,
Returning.
This is life.
The work is not perfection,
The work is returning.
When the extremes press on you,
Too much,
Too little,
Too fast,
Too slow,
Remember the needle.
Step into its rhythm,
Witness where it points.
This is the art,
Too heavy and too fast,
Too slow,
Too fast,
Too slow,
Too fast,
Too fast.
This is the art,
Too heavy and too slow,
Too slow,
Too fast,
Too slow,
Too fast,
Too slow,