Commentary: Climbing

Something rises
as a life being shaped—

a quiet forming,
a sense of height,
of seeing more clearly
from above.

Nothing wrong in this.
Nothing misplaced.

And yet,
even here,
a thin thread remains—
almost unseen—
of standing somewhere.

And Love…
does not leave it as it is.

Not by force.
Not by correction.

But by giving
everything.

So completely,
so without reserve,
that nothing can remain
as something separate
that stands.

What seemed like a mountain
is not pushed down—
it is taken into
something measureless.

And the falling
is not away,
but into.

Into a depth
that was never beneath,
never beyond—
only unnoticed.

Where no one stands
over another.

Where no life
can be held apart
as lesser or greater.

And so even the thought—
so subtle—
of being other than,
better than,
closer than—

cannot stay.

Not because it is denied,
but because it finds
no ground.

This is a tenderness
so complete
it does not divide.

A giving
so total
it does not keep a center.

Like a life
poured out entirely—

not as loss,
but as Love
refusing to remain
separate from anything.

And still—
there is walking,
speaking,
touching,
seeing.

Ordinary light
on ordinary things.

Nothing withdrawn.

Only the quiet absence
of standing apart.

Only Love—
no longer held
as someone’s.

Only this
unbroken
nearness.