I let it breathe. I breathe. I feel its tentacles extend beyond my reach, beyond my vision. It is good. Perfect, in fact. More than, and ever transcending, what I am as its author. It is a moment of stillness. I am as in a dinghy, far out at sea, in a pocket of quiet. Of calm. The sunlight envelopes me, enlivens my aquamarine milieu. Yes and please, I murmur, for it is here. Here. In gratitude the sacred syllable rises from deep in my belly, finds its perfect pitch along my throat and spills into the air around my head: Om. Its vibration tunes the atoms that surround me, until the wooden boat, the salty air, the sea beneath me...even my own flesh and bone...become it. I am absorbed into the collective. I am gone. Infinite and pure. Radiant and divine. Present and adorned with light. Namaste.