There is a moment after the trauma, after the pain, after the rupturing panic;
when something refuses to sleep again.
It is subtle at first.
A kind of quiet pressure behind the eyes.
An alertness in the soul that no longer dims.
It doesn’t come from caffeine or anxiety.
It is not the restlessness of a mind clinging to life.
It is the refusal of the deep self to forget what it now knows.
This is the sleepless spring.
You have passed through abstraction, automation, amnesia.
You have crossed the territories of radiant decay.
You have tasted the unmaking and the source beneath.
Now you carry something that does not shut down.
Where others collapse into algorithms,
you remain inwardly alert.
This is not your achievement.
It is an obligation.
To remain awake.
To hold the vertical tension.
To not join the soft forgetting.
You are now a watcher
of the world’s subterranean weather.
This is not heroism. It is not rebellion.
It is a custodianship.
To guard the small light.
To keep the unseen breath intact.
To be internally true, even when outwardly unreadable.
This is what Ompyrean exists for.
Those whom feel the vertical call amid the horizontal blur.
And whom are no longer content to perform normalcy while dying inside.
This is the counterstorm.