I accept an invitation out of my hiding place in the small closet, where I am cramped and tight, where I can only whisper. I step out, expecting to find a huge room, maybe a ballroom.
But I am in a grassy field high in the mountains, surrounded by dandelions blooming bright. I look around and recognize this place, I can see the familiar Andes stretching in the distance, beyond the shimmering forest that grows at the field’s distant edges. My heart expands with gratitude and joy, for this is home.
But suddenly I am drawn halfway down the mountain, towards a small, young forest of silvery eucalyptus trees. I am drawn there, and, unexpectedly, I am the forest, feeling each tree and its roots stretching into the soil. I am that soil, particle by particle. I am the grass, blade by blade, and the field entire, lapping up to the forest edge. I am the pond beyond that, molecule by molecule of water. I am the mountains pushing up out of the crust of the earth and tripping on themselves away, away, here. I am the distance and the very air. That is my body.
I can see my own eyes, soft and loving, silver-grey in the blur of silver and grey and brown and green and blue and white that is me. I can see the waves that radiate through me, and I can feel them rippling outwards in my human heart.
I am all that.