“Focus on your breathing,” Susie says.
“Imagine this next breath is your first.”
And for a while, it works. I feel the inhale move
from nose to throat to lungs, feel the new air travel
through my legs and arms. Then breathe it out.
I’m curious. I follow as the breath becomes my
daughter, and I wonder how her first day
of climbing went yesterday. And that was so weird
how she was in my dream last night when
I swallowed a spider. Oh yeah. Exhale. Inhale.
The breath. My chest is rising, my hands are still,
and wouldn’t it be nice to go walk in the redwoods?
How long has it been since we were there? ’97?
’98? And inhale. There it is again, the invitation
to take the first breath, and wow, feel all that air
as it rushes in and fills the body like
the balloons at Finn’s birthday party last weekend.
That was so fun, the boys in the waning sun
playing out on the lawn. I can’t believe how sweet
they were to each other and breathe. Right. Here.
Paying attention to the places where my body
meets the ground. Butt. Knees. Shins. And isn’t
it wild how the hum of the cars on the highway outside
at first sound just like a gong. Wrong. Wrong. Think breath.
Or not wrong. Just an other invitation to embrace the process,
each thought like wind, and I, I’m rowing a small canoe.
Is silence always this loud? Someone across the circle
is snoring, and from the kitchen it smells like, mmm,
Thai curry. And Susie says, “Return to the breath,”
and for another moment, I breathe in, breathe out.
And I thank you, mind, for all this practice. You’re
so good at what you do. It matters, this dance,
this chance to be present, to show up and meet
the all that is. I so want to know what is true.