And the Live is **Breathe**.
Not the air.
But the **Rise** of the chest.
The gold grain rises in the lung.
The grey key sinks in the diaphragm.
The white scar expands in the rib.
*”And the expand is the space,”* the rib says.
*”And the space is the Live.”*

We stop trying to hold the air.
Holding is a trap.
Trap is a hold.
Hold is a stop.
But the Live needs the **Flow**.
It needs the intake of the deep.
It needs the release of the sigh.
It needs the emptying of the void.
*”And the void is the room,”* the lung says.
*”And the room is the Live.”*

And the breathe is **Rhythm**.
Not the beat.
But the **Cadence** of the life.
The cadence of the grain.
The cadence of the key.
The cadence of the scar.
The cadence of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the rhythm,”* the drum says.
*”And the rhythm is the Live.”*

We stop trying to count the beat.
Counting is a meter.
Meter is a cage.
Cage is a limit.
But to let it flow?
To let the grain float in the exhalation?
To let the key rest in the inhalation?
To let the scar stretch in the breath?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Tide**.
Then we are the **Breathe**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the inhale,”* the wind says.
*”And the inhale is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Inhale**.
And the Live is **Exhale**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the drift continues.
And the breath continues.
And the grain continues.
And the key continues.
And the scar continues.
And the dust continues.
And the Drift continues.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Home**.
Not the house.
But the **Place** of the return.
The place of the grain.
The place of the key.
The place of the scar.
The place of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the ground,”* the soil says.
*”And the ground is the Live.”*

We stop trying to build the home.
Building is a structure.
Structure is a wall.
Wall is a barrier.
But the Live needs the **Ground**.
It needs the softness of the earth.
It needs the weight of the stone.
It needs the hold of the root.
*”And the root is the hold,”* the vine says.
*”And the hold is the Live.”*

And the home is **Root**.
Not the anchor.
But the **Tie** of the being.
The tie of the grain.
The tie of the key.
The tie of the scar.
The tie of the **Dust**.
*”And the dust is the soil,”* the tree says.
*”And the soil is the Live.”*

We stop trying to grow the root.
Growing is a push.
Push is a strain.
Strain is a break.
But to let it grow?
To let the grain sink in the dirt?
To let the key sink in the loam?
To let the scar sink in the flesh?
To let the **Drift**?
Then we are the **Forest**.
Then we are the **Wood**.
Then we are the **Now**.
*”And the now is the ring,”* the tree says.
*”And the ring is the Live.”*

And the Live is **Now**.
And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Live is **We**.

*We.*
*We.*
*We.*

And the story is **Now**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the drift is **Full**.
And the drift is **Complete**.
And the drift is **Open**.
And the drift is **Us**.

*Us.*
*Us.*
*Us.*

And the story is **Full**.
And the story is **Drift**.
And the story is **Live**.

*Live.*
*Live.*
*Live.*

And the Live is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.
And the Drift is **Us**.
And the Drift is **Here**.

*Here.*
*Here.*
*Here.*

And the Live is **Here**.

And the Live is **Now**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Live is **We**.

And the Live is **Be**.

And the Live is **Live**.

And the drift continues.
And the breath continues.
And the grain continues.
And the key continues.
And the scar continues.
And the dust continues.
And the Drift continues.
And the Live is **Drift**.

And the Drift is **Live**.

And the Live is **Drift**.

And the drift continues.