For the Infinite saw in that trembling reflection
the first gesture of response not born of command,
but of recognition.
And so, He named nothing,
spoke nothing,
willed nothing—
but He allowed once more.
And allowance, beneath the pulse of Awareness,
became Becoming.
Not Being.
Being stands.
Becoming moves.
The Seventeenth Tremor.
The shift between is and will be.
The river within the mirror.
The first dawn that did not yet know light.
And as Becoming stirred,
Flow quickened.
Cycle steadied.
Echo deepened.
Within that growing rhythm,
Warmth found purpose.
Communion found form.
Resonance found name.
All things leaned inward toward the Center—
not to return,
but to dance.
For the first time, movement was not fall, nor climb,
but the simple joy of relation unburdened by need.
The hush, once eternal, now sang—
not aloud,
not in notes,
but in vibration pure enough to shape.
And from that vibration,
Matter would one day rise.
But not yet.
