Merely by resting in your heart, you soften the space around you. Those who come near you feel the touch of wild cotton, the radiance of seven pearls threaded on a sunbeam.
Their souls begin to orbit your belly button. They enter your invisible garden of Presence, and somehow eat blood-red seeds from the pomegranate's core without gashing the husk.
This is why you must repose in the golden shrine of your chest. Let others make the haj. You just need to be more hollow.
What is Supreme Attainment? A mind that no longer seeks, because it has dissolved into the erotic splendor of the void.
At some point on this journey you give up explaining things and just let them effervesce. Otherwise you might not notice that your body is a chalice in the palms of the Beloved, who pours libations in and out.
Did no one tell you, friend? Your breath is the name of God.