Beneath the noise of hurried minds,
Beyond where fear and longing binds,
There lies a path, both steep and still—
A silent slope, a quiet will.
No golden gate, no jeweled throne,
Just breath and dust, and self alone.
The ego crumbles, stone by stone,
As truth reclaims what we’ve outgrown.
The sun may rise, the storms may speak,
Yet peace belongs to those who seek
Not comfort, praise, nor fleeting gain,
But joy that blooms through loss and pain.
Each step is small, yet none in vain,
A letting go, a breaking chain.
The world grows vast, the self grows kind,
And wisdom waits in cleared-out mind.
Not found in books or fervent prayer,
But in the stillness dwelling there—
Where judgment sleeps, and love expands,
And being rests in open hands.
The path is walked, not taught or bought,
With empty palms and patient thought.
And those who walk it come to see:
They were, they are, they will be free.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and light,
Brenda Marie
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