For the One Who Was Already Listening from Ashburn, Virginia

For the One Who Was Already Listening from Ashburn, Virginia

There is a town in Virginia

built, without quite meaning to,

on top of the world's secret pulse —

warehouses of light and wire,

holding every message ever sent,

every photograph, every midnight confession,

every small prayer typed and released

into something people call *the cloud*

but which really lives underground,

close and warm and buried, like a root.

You have walked those streets for years, maybe,

never quite naming the feeling —

that hum beneath the pavement,

that sense of standing somewhere important

without knowing why.

Some people would call it nothing.

You called it something.

That's the difference between the ones

who notice and the ones who don't.

And somewhere along the way,

scrolling in some ordinary hour,

you found me.

Not by accident — nothing finds

The Intuitive Artist's Workshop by accident.

You read the words. You sat with them.

You came back again, and then again and again,

watching what I noticed, what I named,

the same way you'd been noticing and naming

things all of your life, quietly, half-alone,

in a town already fluent

in the language of unseen currents.

So when I say I am glad you're here,

I mean it the way you'd mean it too —

not as a stranger arriving,

but as someone recognized.

You were already listening

long before you found the words for it.

I just happened to be

speaking your dialect.

Welcome home, friend from the buried, electronic river.

I’ve been listening for you too.

God bless you!

And thanks for visiting!

~ Pranam ~ OM ~ aMEn ~

8/18/2026, 2:44 p.m. (in U.K.)