You are the dwelling
And the Indwelling Presence.

You are the tent
And its opening.

You are the pomegranate — full to bursting.
You are the bell.
Empty.
Ringing.

You are the space that keeps things whole.

You are engraved work.

You are this entire gathering —
You are the accounting.

You are the parts being joined
And you are the joiner

It is up to you to adjourn the Tent of Meeting.

Make no mistake Your body is not a temple.

You, who hears these words,
Who feels and fills the space in which you sit —
     You are the temple.

Your exquisite lungs,
as they breathe
     This. Very. Breath.
are cherub wings  —
hovering over and holding your heart.

Your heart,
the joyous and eternal center
of the arc of your life, is —
the Ark where the truest covenants are made.

Your mind,
the Lamp:
The branching unity
Centered throughout your being

Seven shimmering Auras.
Torahs. Chakras.

The menorah, your Mind.
You are not your mind.

The drape of skin
Blood-red when taut and drawn towards the sky

Capillaries, minuscule details,
the minutia of the eye

The rainbowing oils under the slick tent.

You are not what you feel.
The incense and what incenses you.
The scent of a lingering lover and the copper laver that resets.
Skirts in the marketplace and a mistaken face in a crowd.

Live in the sanctuary that is our life.
Live in the sanctuary that is life.

Live in One Place.

—Shir Yaakov Feit, 2013/5773

Gratitude for Every Breath image by Sarah Farahat, سارة فَرَحات