In this world of constant frenetic activity sitting is the most radical act. Not sitting in the droll, passive way in which we tend to consume media, but sitting truly and presently with an attentive heart and an open mind. We watch the breath, which serves as the perfect antidote to all the spiritual and emotional ills which we shoulder and internalize. The breath, which is always free and reminds us that we own nothing. The breath, which returns us to the knowledge that we are in a constant metabolic exchange with the plants and trees. The breath, which brings us back to the mysterious animal of our body, that elaborate and sensitive organism gifted by nature itself. The breath, which beneath the banal weight of our self-narratives, just keeps doing its thing, in and out—always there, ready to comfort and guide us. And just as at birth, the visceral shock of air entering our lungs shakes us from the sleep of the womb, so at death, it quiets us down, and with a final gasp leads us back into the star-studded void, mixing us once more into the luminous community.