The Narrow Gate of Concentration

I notice first how a slight shift in focus leads to three more losses before I even realize I’ve wandered off again into my mind,
I notice first how easy it is to call distraction harmless while it quietly rearranges the whole day against me again and again,
I first notice how the broken thread of attention costs more than the minute that stole it from my own hands,
I notice first, am I truly resting right now or just escaping the weight of what matters most to me right this very moment,
I notice it first, and when I finally confess it, the hour has already gone ahead without me…

I have learned that scattered habits do not stay small because they teach my mind to keep abandoning itself,
I have learned that every needless interruption leaves a residue of restlessness I carry into the next task,
I have learned that returning to depth gets harder each time I reward my own wandering with relief,
I have learned, am I feeding the pattern I claim I want to break by touching it all over again,
I have learned, how repetition can build chains as easily as it builds my needed strength…

I protect now, that narrow doorway where concentration enters before noise can overwhelm the frame and seize the room,
I protect now, by refusing invitations that look tiny but know exactly how to once again once welcomed,
I protect now, because unfinished things keep speaking in my chest long after I close the screen that don’t want to face,
I protect now, can I disappoint a momentary urge instead of disappointing myself again for the nth time,
I protect now, though part of me still craves the easier ruin of delay, because waiting has always disguised itself as mercy while stealing from me in silence…

I approach slowly, for a more stable focus acknowledging that perfection is unattainable and that slips still occur unexpectedly,
I approach slowly, not seeking perfection, but rather honesty when my mind begins to negotiate to what I wanted to imagine
I approach slowly, accepting that discipline often looks plainly boring while chaos arrives dressed as relieved comfort,
I approach slowly, can I begin again this minute instead of mourning the last wasted one, because regret cannot return it, but attention can still redeem what remains,
I approach slowly, because saving pieces of a day can still become a life, and lives are rebuilt the same way they were lost, one hour, one day, one month, at a time…

Watchwords:
The hour moved on
Repetition can build chains
Narrow doorway where concentration enters
Easier ruin of dela
Saving pieces of a day