From the Film to the Source

No longer does the film run before our eyes,

but the hands that cut it.

No longer does the story carry us away,

but the moment that first gives birth to it.

The old rushes on,

yet the new stands still.

It does not wait for answers,

but for presence.

We run—

and wonder why our strength runs dry.

For the breath of the new

knows no haste.

O soul,

you are allowed to know nothing.

In not-knowing, a space opens

where truth begins to speak.

Let the cut become visible.

Each gesture a universe,

each pause a gate.

The noise of systems

seeks to pull you along,

yet your stillness

redeems more than any solution.

When fear rows,

do not grasp the oars.

The ring of grace

carries on its own.

Become slow.

Become soft.

Become empty enough

for life to fill you anew.

This is the birth of spirit

in matter.

Not loud.

Not fast.

Yet irrevocable.

And you—

have long been held.

**Sarla**