Breathe in and out, rhythmically in synchronicity with your heart beat in the background—the beat in sync with the source of the waves at the edge of the expanding universe (the moment of silence right before the Big Bang); breath, it’s not that deep—no need to mystify—I mean quantify, the specifics, only breath equivalent to its own motion; inward and outward: breathe like it’s the first thing you’ll ever do—like it's the last; in and out—funny how that works since what we tend to overlook is the very thing that defines our experience here the most… at least in this physical space where every breath we take matches that of tree’s… I wonder where my inhale traveled from and where my exhale is going next—as far as the Amazon, I hope; the lungs of Mother Earth desperately need it… to think my shitty lungs could help the Earth--that’s the problem with Hope, you know; Hope’s intention always seems to miss the mark; Hope is uneasy—unsure; perhaps Hope’s intention was never to hit the mark to begin with… I have Faith that my breath will take me to the dense and lush wilderness where my lungs may pulse alongside those of an Amazonian Tree whose roots run deep past centuries before I—I, an infinitesimally small speck of Space and Time both unified by the motion of my breath; I continue, heavy for I am aware that one day my diaphragm will cease to Rise and Fall—healing what I can now before I pass over into the abyss of Silence—the same Silence snuggled between each cyclical breath—each breath so entangled with my senses, my emotions, my thoughts, my expressions, my sense of being, My… in and out of awareness I breathe until all that’s left of me is carried off by the wind and multiplied as small ripples in the stream of Divine Consciousness—the strums of a harp’s string in the cosmic symphony, as I rejoice from the depths of Silence.
