The body believes what I repeat. Not what I intend. Not what I announce. Repetition writes the story. When I choose one small devotion and keep it, the body unclenches by degrees. A glass of water upon waking. A walk that happens even when the sky doesn’t beg me outside. A minute of deliberate breath before I reach for anything that glows. These are not dramatic gestures; they are steadying ones.
They stitch the day to itself.
Devotion is different from performance. Performance looks sideways for approval; devotion looks inward for alignment. Performance wants to be seen keeping the promise; devotion wants the promise kept. The body can tell. It softens around the consistent act and begins offering me energy I didn’t realize I had. The veil between intention and embodiment thins. I become trustworthy to myself in the smallest way, and that trust scales. I stop bargaining with the moment and simply meet it. One honest act at a time, I become the kind of vessel that can carry more life without spilling.
What small devotion could you keep today without negotiation?
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