i

I breathe.  Deeply, I inhale into the capacity of my lungs a captivity of essential freedom which escapes me only for moments at a time as I release upon the call of obedience to relax my grip and withhold the fond embrace of a vital goodness that satisfies the urge of my eternal heart.  Air.  I consume the pure and ideal mimic of a revealed source of cosmic reality that is my own necessity, as I crave nothing more than to become the core restoration.  Ambiently and transcendently, there is a be-wondered bewitchment, spellbound by the intensely enthralling value of such a dynamic.  Possibly, the gift that you have given me is the infinite source upon which all have declared as quested.  Compassionate constitutions.  Myriads infallible and destitute to its forcefield.  Hello?  Pure like air.  Air becomes the water.  Water becomes the fruit.  Pure.  The free root.  Tree. Life.  Light.  A dignity only known in dreams of what a perfect would would be in formula, in practice.  Pretensely, suppose it were possible that on this new day, one should come forth from among your masses and declare to be the prototype of the new way.  Enlighten me.  I Am the way.