ZERO-Point — not a word, but a breath suspended between presence and absence — ZERO-Point.

Time softens, bends, collapses back into itself.

Exhale the void. The pulse breathing — closer, closer — then disappears into nothing, only to return as everything. 
Breathing not as action but as being: a rhythm dissolving the borders between sound and silence, self and emptiness.

No center, no circumference. 
Just breath folding into breath, rippling across unfelt distances.

Feel the hollow:
A place where thoughts never land,
A spiral without motion,
A greeting without a beginning.

Beneath sound, beneath thought, there is only breath, infinitely layered yet weightless. 
Zero point, where existence folds inward, where stillness and motion become indistinguishable. 
Every beat evaporates before meaning forms, returning always to silence shaped by breath.

arrival and a vanishing. A threshold that never stops. 
A reminder that even nothingness pulses. 
Inhale the void, exhale infinity. Listen not for sound but for the absence that cradles it.

Zero breath.
Breath remembers.
And so it goes.