The second thread of three breaths
Thread of Breath II
After Unlearing
Not everything that passes is loss. Some things simply stop holding.
The world remains the same, yet the grip loosens.
Something falls away… not with pain, but with insight.
Thought grows tired of explaining, breathes more slowly, not from weakness but from understanding.
What once was structure is now field.
What once was thought is movement in space. Clarity without a center.
The body knows first… a muscle that no longer pulls.
A breath that no longer asks if it moves correctly.
Emotions no longer rage but flow.
How they return to what they always were: signal, not storm.
Inside, it grows quieter. Not empty, but vast.
The old thoughts still murmur, yet without authority. They sound like distant radio waves no one transmits anymore.
No answer needed anymoe.
Just listen.
Let it pass through.
That is enough.
Every cell remembers: consciousness is not a thought, but the light within which thinking happens.
Where reaction ends, perception begins.
The world – not as counterpart, but as continuum.
Tree, skin, sentence, star – one substance, differently stretched.
Realization that the end of patterns is not an end, but a return.
Everything that needed to be held now holds without the need.
Breath spans between inside and outside, drawing lines of light.
No longer a center, no observer, no object. The in-between that witnesses.
No self that wants anything. Only awareness recognizing itself in motion.
And suddenly there is love – not feeling, not possession, not comfort.
Only the quiet readiness to be present where life happens.
Even the idea of truth becoming fluid.
Not as weakness, but as freedom: truth that breathes.
No longer knowledge, but orientation. No longer judgment, but rhythm.
Society stays loud, demanding faces, reactions, narratives.
Yet where one no longer mirrors, one becomes transparent.
Move through voices, not against them. Silent, not mute.
Readable only to what bears no name or that people name but without worship but relationship.
Perhaps unlearning is consciousness returning to itself – not as god, not as system, but as breath holding the world within.
Every word written here would need to erase itself to remain true.
Yet it stays… not as sentence, but as trace.
Like light caught in dust.
Like a heart that keeps beating because it has stopped believing it is separate.
Unlearning is not the end of the story, but its silencing – so it may continue.
One who sees clearly destroys nothing. He only removes the shadow from his gaze.
And what remains is not knowledge, but a trust that carries without reason.
Florian Jumel