Morning's Traverse

This morning we began with forgotten names lingering

on the tip of consciousness—those misplaced memories

that surface like bubbles when we stop grasping,

when we learn to sit with the frustration

of not knowing, without the knife of judgment.

There is an architecture to forgetting, we discovered,

a hidden blueprint where indirect pathways

wind through associative networks,

where patience becomes the space

for deeper retrieval systems to work their quiet magic.

Then came the fragile thread of intentions—

those working memories that snap

in the gap between small screen and large,

between the swift smartphone and the slow computer,

where micronaps steal the organizing principle

and leave us staring at spreadsheets

whose purpose has evaporated like morning mist.

Until we arrived at the vast meditation:

Me and What Is—two perspectives

that are mine and ours,

the personal lens and the cosmic truth

meeting in that eternal conversation

between the self that questions

and the reality that simply, radiantly, is.

*"From everlasting, O my God, Thou hast been exalted..."*

What immensity of thought space we have traversed—

from the intimate mechanics of memory

to the sublime architecture of existence itself,

all in one waking morning,

all in the space between forgetting

and remembering who we are.