Breathe the Light

I'll go to the walk-out basement because it's cool there. I'll sit on the love seat, which has collected dust from lack of use. When I sit the dust particles float up, and I breathe them into my nostrils. With a calm, quiet mind, I wait for the dust to settle, and there I am, covered in dust, a part of the furniture. Now that the dust has settled, I'll shut my eyes, and imagine the light shining all around me. The universe is infused with this light, and we are vehicles for it. I breathe the light into my nostrils: the binary hairy oval gates to enlightenment. And past my nostrils the light makes it's way almost directly to my lungs. Sometimes when the light is in there, I hold my breath, and wish I never had to exhale, so that I could finally, like a candles flame, rejoin the eternal fire.

The light is converted into something palpable in my body. This conversion allows me to be here. With it in my body I can high five people. Don't tell me you don't like receiving high fives. My heart pumps the light. I have a purpose. I am a catalyst for merry-making. I make apple sauce when the apples are no longer fit to eat, and I give it to starving children in Africa. By the time it gets there it's probably moldy. But at least I tried, goddamnit. At least I tried. Smile sauce. I also fabricate smile sauce with my blazing feet.

The light is all encompassing... Or maybe I'm talking about air. Whatev.