Beholding does not exist on its own. It becomes possible when time is allowed to remain intact. We learn how to read time, how to tell it, but time itself is never explained to us. So we touch it on the surface, without knowing how to hold it so it can bloom on its own. We were never taught that time, too, needs air, breath, and trust to show itself. And because of this, we shorten it, compress it, rush what is forming. Not because we are careless, but because we were never shown how to stay. Silence is not emptiness. It is what forms when time is not interrupted. Without time, silence cannot hold. It collapses into noise. Beholding is not effortful attention. It is not focus. It is not control. It is the refusal to interfere with emergence.
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