In the times when the world seems halted, holding back bated breath on the edge of a darkened dawn, I wish you could preside over a room of resting humans, gentle in form, soft and pristine in their sameness, illuminated by their tender unfolding. When heartmatter has spilled and been strewn about by the invocation of strands of breath and the dancing sinew of the body, the way that lovers arrange wildflower petals in greeting. Then, with your own breath suspended in flight, I wish you could reside upon the fine edge between weeping and smiling as your boundaries slacken, and you are beset with loving.
Innumerable paths, junctures and collections of story have led them here. They arrive, the sum total of this, with the longing to be undone from it, to be guided in search of the thread of truth running through each and through all of us. The wedding of breath and movement pulls apart the veils and illusions until we are free of it, for fractions at a time. I wish you could sit, in the wilting of the light, heart pierced by that immutable, abiding thread, weaving harmony of the individuated into unison of the whole. You would fall, hopelessly and irretrievably in love, for bare hearts become incorrigibly related in remembrance of kinship.
When the crescendo of contraction comes, I wish you could sit and gaze out over this view, where unity is undeniable and oneness makes rubble of your borders. These moments remake and reshape beyond reckoning. For me that will forever be the grace of this seat. I wish you a loving like this.