The Still Point

In the rush of days and the whirl of thoughts,
there is a still point untouched by time,
a silent center where nothing moves,
yet everything is held.

I once searched for it outside myself,
in distant stars and sacred books,
but the flame waited patiently
within my own breath,
beneath every heartbeat.

Here, past and future lose their grip,
stories fade like morning mist,
and love stands unveiled —
wordless, spacious, whole.

In the still point, I remember:
I am not the storm,
but the calm at its heart,
forever grounded
in the unshaken I AM.

— Joe Restman