Being breathed

I breathe, soft whispers pass through my nostrils, alternately cool and warm, in and out, breath after breath and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. This is being breathed. This is my body’s job: to breathe and await instruction. Lift arm, move leg, talk, write, it matters not: the body is an instrument, nothing more. How could I ever have been so naïve to believe this body was me? Even possessing it is impossible.

Eyes close for countless moments and I forget I am here, drifting home briefly to the vast empty space. Nothing surrounds me and all is quiet. Eternity visits to remind me where I live. All disappears in the drop of my eyelids and all becomes nothing. There is no hindrance here. And then the world reenters my field of view and I pretend to be J again – as best I can, for now it feels fraudulent: who is this personality I would attempt to emulate? Why would I want to be this to you?

I am nobody. No body. There is nothing to be. There is nothing. Nowhere to go. Nowhere is everywhere.

And that is all.