Chapter 1 · The Call to See

Where Truth Rests Still

Cristina do Valle Mirrors of the Infinite

Truth is the stone at the river’s heart, Unmoved by the song of the waves; It waits where silence has no start, Where memory has no graves. Belief is a bird in restless flight, Tracing circles in a boundless sky; It bends the day, it bends the night, It colors the lens of every eye. We weave with thought a fleeting world, A fabric spun of want and fear; Yet every thread is softly curled Around a center bright and clear. When belief bows low to Truth’s embrace, The restless wings of the mind grow still; Peace descends, a tender grace, And all aligns with a higher will. What we are is what we’ve been, And what we’ll ever be is One; The dream dissolves, yet not within, We wake as moonlight wakes the sun.

Reflection

This poem came from a meditation where I felt Truth, not as an idea, but as a presence. It was heavy like stone, unmoving, and yet infinitely gentle. Writing these lines was like tracing the outline of something eternal, something that doesn’t need to prove or defend itself. Truth simply is.

I have often confused belief with truth, clinging to beliefs as if they were anchors, shaping them to make me feel safe. But this poem came as a clear message: belief is fluid, restless, like a bird circling the sky. It is not wrong; it is creative, playful even. Belief colors how we see, and it gives us tools to navigate the dream of life. But truth is something deeper; it does not shift with time or circumstance. It is the stillness beneath everything, the stone at the center of the river, unmoved by all the rushing water above it.

The lesson here is that peace comes not from controlling belief, but from bowing to truth. When belief aligns with what is eternal, its restless flight slows, and we feel harmony. Writing this poem gave me a moment of profound calm; a glimpse of what it feels like to surrender entirely to that center, to trust the “stone at the river’s heart.” It reminded me that no matter how chaotic life feels, there is something within us that has never been touched by fear, grief, or confusion.

The distortion this poem helped dissolve was my subtle need to make belief “right.” I used to feel pressure to define and defend my spiritual understanding, as though truth depended on my perception of it. But truth is not fragile, and it doesn’t need protection. This piece reminded me that truth is always present, unchanging, and that belief is simply how we dance around it, sometimes near and sometimes far.

“Where Truth Rests Still” feels like a map back to center. When I read it, I imagine a quiet stone deep in a river, surrounded by movement yet utterly still. That is what we are. The poem feels like an invitation to trust that eternal stillness, to rest in it, and to let every restless wing of the mind finally fold.

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