A
trace of acumen drifts across the night,
Like
a keen sense of quietness in our breath.
In
stillness, where the mind gives up its fight,
The
deepest silence speaks of life and death.
We
gather knowledge – facts and noted themes,
The
schema was built to organize the brain,
The
ego navigating conscious dreams,
The
neuroplastic shaping of our pain.
Yet
facts alone are only steps we pave,
While
wisdom is the light by which we walk.
Metacognition
watches from the cave,
Beyond
the noise of all our clever talk.
And
love – that sweet attachment of the soul,
The
heart’s self-actualizing highest state,
Restores
the fractured spirit into whole,
A
soft alignment where we integrate.
Yet
every breath, each neural spark, each grace,
The
mind’s vast depth, the love we carry through,
Are
held within a grander, sacred space:
But
glory, that belongs to God, not me or you!
Thomas
Theophilus© October 4, 2026
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