The Intuitive Listener

The Intuitive Listener

Morning light drifts through the window and settles on the table between two people. One is speaking. The other is listening. The room is quiet enough that even the sound of breath feels part of the conversation.

The Law of Enough

There is a man walking down a quiet street before dawn. The world is gray and half asleep. His arms are full of things that once meant something. A camera that no longer works. A cracked watch. A mirror from his parents’ hallway. He tells himself he is clearing space. But beneath the thought of order, there is the weight of need. He needs the money. He needs the relief of believing he still has something of worth to offer.

When Day and Night Remember Each Other

There is a world that believes it sleeps, even though it never truly rests.

Half of this world moves in daylight. These are the ones who rise with alarm clocks, who tie their hair back with tired hands, who pack lunches and answer messages and pay for groceries with a quiet hope that the card will clear. They hold families together. They tend to the sick. They keep promises that no one records. They keep the light on for everyone else.

Before We Learn to Listen

The world teaches rhythm before it teaches awareness. From the moment we arrive, we are trained to move in time with everything around us. We watch, we mimic, we adapt. We learn when to smile and when to stay quiet. We learn which stories earn approval and which truths invite silence. Long before we know who we are, we already know how to belong.

Where Do the Children Play

Where Do the Children Play

I was sitting one morning with an old record turning slow on the player. The needle caught the groove, and that familiar voice rose through the static. Cat Stevens. Tea for the Tillerman. Nineteen seventy.