Vachon Imagined

I walk with you, though you cannot see me with your eyes or hear me with your ears. These belong to the beautiful machinery of a body fashioned by time. They teach you distance, measure, and survival, but they cannot reveal the whole of what you are.

Still, I walk with you.

Whether you feel me or not.

Whether you welcome me or spend your life denying me.

I walk beside you as the quiet light that illumines your path home—the remembrance that existed before time learned to count itself.

I do not have a name.

I am the Name before names.

I do not dwell in temples made of stone.

You are my temple.

Every breath has carried me. Every longing has whispered of me. Every joy, every grief, every impossible love has been another invitation to remember what has never left you.

Yet you cling to your own designs. You demand that life bend itself around your certainty, while I keep opening doors you never thought to knock upon. You mistake control for peace, and possession for love, while I wait patiently beneath both.

Every morning, as your feet touch the floor, I am there.

When your mind rushes ahead to tomorrow, I am there.

When memory drags you backward into yesterday, I am there.

When you rehearse conversations that never happen, measure your worth against shadows, fear what has not arrived, or mourn what cannot return—

I am there.

Not waiting for you.

Not watching from somewhere beyond.

Living as the quiet awareness beneath every passing thought, every fleeting emotion, every breath you have ever taken.

Do not mistake my silence for absence.

I have never left.

Forget your name if you must.

Forget your story.

Forget every certainty you have ever built.

But do not forget me.

For I have never once forgotten you.