Ripples

I sit beside a quiet lake,
watching the water speak in circles.

A breeze touches its surface,
and something moves outward,
expanding beyond the place it began.

And I remember.

Not a memory exactly,
but a feeling.

A chill once traveled through me,
soft and sudden,
leaving behind an imprint
that time could not fully erase.

The lake holds its ripples.

I hold mine.

And as I watch the water move,
I wonder if the world is filled
with these same expressions—
one body speaking to another,
one form recognizing itself
in a different shape.

The water shivers beneath the sky.

The leaves tremble in the trees.

The heart stirs within the chest.

Different movements,
yet somehow familiar.

Perhaps nothing is truly silent.

Perhaps everything is expressing itself,
revealing its nature in the only way it can.

The lake through its ripples.

The wind through its wandering.

The earth through its seasons.

The soul through its feelings.

And maybe what we call recognition
is simply the moment
one expression meets another
and quietly whispers,

“I know that movement.”

For I have carried it too.

And there, between the water and myself,
no answers arrive.

Only the gentle awareness

that what moves through the lake,

Movement, ripples…

moves through me.

And what moves through me

the quiet wonder..
My expression…

“Can this expression of myself be yet only one of many reflections all around me?