Reality is never still.
Even when it seems at rest, it is leaning — a field of readiness inclining toward coherence.
This leaning is not something that happens in time; it is the temporality of being itself: the ongoing tilt of potential toward its own construal.
Every act, every perception, every pattern of meaning is a momentary equilibrium in that continuous inclination. The world steadies itself just long enough to appear — then leans again.
To live within such a world is to recognise that actuality is always the trace of readiness, that coherence is not imposed but continually composed. The universe does not unfold like a story; it balances like a dancer — poised on the edge of its own becoming.
And we, as part of that choreography, are not spectators but participants in the leaning:
each thought, each gesture, each word another small inflection in the readiness of the real.
The world is never finished; it is always about to begin again.
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