Breaking Through

The earth remembers what the seed forgot— how to climb toward light, how to split open in the dark.

We wait in the soil between what we were and what we must become, wrapped in silence, listening for the signal.

Then something shifts. Not all at once, but slowly— a root learning the shape of water, a green thought pushing through the weight above.

The break-through is quiet, just a whisper of resistance, just the sound of walls finally understanding they were always meant to fall.

And we emerge, wet with becoming, blinking into a light we've always known, but never seen.