That place where breath happens. That place where there is space to not think, at least for a moment, resting in the arms of the unknown, until the expected memories and thoughts come back.

The guilty mind, stripped of its trappings of shoulds, finds a time to feel stiff shoulders and creaky knees, comfortable clothes and fresh feet. The breath makes cloth move against stomach, air refreshes nose, mouth, throat, and we are so lucky to breathe easily. I know small children who don’t, whose lungs filling with fluid are rushed to overfilled hospitals only to go home, come back, go home.

In that place is my heart and my heart yearns for the wellness of all, not from a place of anguish but from a place of peace. If there is any interconnectedness of souls then it must be here in the silence and the breath, however small. And for a moment I am in your arms, you are in my arms, and the unknown soldier; the unknown god; the unknown Jesus; the unknown Buddha; the unknown prophet; the unknown nurse hold us all in their arms so that we can rest and hear the call of love.