It's Saturday night and I arrive late. The woman at the end of the room is already speaking; faces turned towards her, in passive anticipation. I find and quickly occupy an empty seat next to a man who is probably twice my age, with folded arms and kind eyes. I allow my own to drift downward as I begin to listen, in passive anticipation.
The woman reads the words I've heard a dozen times before, though never with lesser an impact than the first.
It isn't long before I notice, out of the corner of my eye, the subtle rise and fall of the man's chest, revealing the steady rhythm of his breath. To my surprise, and instant delight, it matches my own. I smile to myself, as I draw in breath, with a sneaky gaze upon his chest. Yes. We're breathing in unison. This man who I've never met, whose story I do not know, yet the rhythm of his breath matches my own. Breathing in unison.
The woman finishes speaking, and others take their turns. My focus shifts from the man next to me, to others around the room. This is the first time I've been here on a Saturday night and it's comfortably uncrowded.
Some of the words that are spoken reach deep, deeper than any other words I've ever heard.
