I BREATHE him in. I breathe him out.
Under the Bodhi Tree in Bodh Gaya, one breathes first and asks questions later.
Everything loses itself in currents of breath, in small measures of sanity.
Where the Buddha sat, I can almost feel the calm waters that opened to yank his hiking feet (Swimming was another story. A one-sided love affair.), his mouth full of Psalms, into the deep. Inside my deep, there is a sharp sadness. Will it exhaust itself one day, being impermanent, as the Buddha said all conditioned things were?