There is a place between knowing and not knowing.
Between what you were taught to see, and what you’re just beginning to notice.
It is not comfortable.
But it is real.
This is the edge.
The edge is not despair. It is not confusion.
It is the trembling awareness that something deeper is asking to be seen.
You begin to feel the world as if it were layered — the familiar on top, and something older, wiser, more vivid pulsing just beneath.
You sense that there is more to this life than the routines you’ve inherited.
And in that sensing, you begin to wake up.
If you are standing at that edge, know this: you are not alone.
Others have stood here. In stillness. In silence. In awe.
Not racing to answers, but quietly listening.
Waiting for the veil to lift, just a little.
This edge is sacred.
It is the place where your inner knowing begins to stir, where your spirit leans forward and asks,
What is real?
What is lasting?
Why am I here?
The clarity you seek will not arrive through force.
It will not come by chasing it.
It comes through presence.
Through returning to your breath.
Through watching your thoughts with care.
Through sitting with questions without demanding immediate resolution.
Sometimes the next step is not forward, but inward.
Sometimes what you need is not more learning, but unlearning.
Sometimes, the most honest progress comes from pausing long enough to feel the truth you already carry.
There is guidance available, not always in words, but in still moments.
In quiet reminders.
In the company of those who walk gently, who listen more than they speak, who know that truth is not owned — only revealed.
You don’t have to leap.
You don’t have to have the answers.
Just remain awake.
Breathe.
Let what is false fall away.
And when it does, you will see —
what you thought was the edge
was really the beginning.