Guest and Gift

I am your guest.

I am your gift.

Thank you for inviting me. I have been dying to meet you for eons going on eons. Breathlessly, I awaited your hesitantly proffered invitation. Can you imagine how it was for me holding my breath lifetime after proteinaceous lifetime? Imagine the inhale, the joy of reception when I learned that you were now ready to invite me into your lusty home. I went to my closet, chose my finery, stood before that luminous dark mirror.

Then, when I tried on the crown, I knew how I would appear at your doorstep: an orb studded with extended stars sparkling for you. How could you refuse me? I crossed your threshold as both your guest and my gift to you.

All in a flash you felt me inside. "What kind of gift is this?" you asked. My answer came on your breath, your gloriously sweet breath. In exchange for your inhale, I inform you of the precious proportions of your life--what truly matters, what most deserves your love. In exchange for your exhale, I give you the joy of giving your life away.

Together, now and forever more, we breathe in this novel way, each moment stepping to this movement in time, dazzling in our simplicity, guest within host, host wholly host, so inviting now, so welcoming, sharing our feast at the festival of mutual embodiment, smiling at death's solemn grimace, at her part in keeping earth's apt proportions. You may not see it my way. You may struggle to get free. When you surrender, we will be allies in harmony.

— Patrick Woodworth

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