by the ways we say “yes,
thank you, more please.”
More than I receive.
We partake in the majesty
when we think in terms of “we.”
We are this gift given.
Most notably esteemed
in the ways we open the portals and chasms
of this pulsing home,
this eternal tome
in which are written the secrets of true cognition.
This patter-patter nothing is the matter,
lub-dub everything is matter
everything is a part of the pulse.
Rhythmic vibrations of life’s fluctuations,
given, received, as simple as I breathe.
In and out.
Life’s primordial law exemplified
in every rising wave and receding tide.
When we give from our hearts,
we get all we need.
But not by trying to get
Nothing can be bought from life,
not even more time.
Especially if we believe it only moves in a line.
We are not for getting,
don’t let yourself forget,
this life is for giving
and thus, forgave.
Day in, day out,
from birth to grave.
Not a line, this living,
a pulse, a rhythm.
From the grandest star to the smallest cell,
breathing defines every particle.
What if our gazes continually returned
to the emanation of the inquiry: “What can I give?”
How would we live
if that question
began each day,
each moment, each exhalation?
And inhalations allow us to realize
every breath is a new beginning
of the same old thing.
We are offered every moment,
this air, these bodies, this precious life.
Everything a gift.
Flowing out, flowing in,
to be given yet again.