Playing with the formless

Every inhale threads the cosmos through your lungs and back into the world.

Creation sits at the edge of your fingertips.

It pulses there, waiting, like that fleeting moment before your hands touch clay.

It’s thick, electric, a heat that radiates outward, but demands you hold it close.

Breathe into that taut sensation in your chest, the quiet evidence of something stirring deep within you.

The Magician doesn’t ask if you’re ready. She shows you that you’ve been ready all along.

One hand pointing to the heavens, the other to the ground below. She stands as the fulcrum, steady, balancing the forces that seem so far apart, yet flow through the same thread of you. Spirit and earth. Thought and form.

But this energy... it isn’t new. You’ve experienced it before.

Do you remember?