So, sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
It happens to me when life takes charge. When the tenderness of a moment holds me too close.
Like walking through the space left by the fresh faced P plater this morning. He smelled of soap and hope. His new shirt showing the creases from the packet opened this morning. A grown-up lad in his own eyes. Eager for the next phase of his journey to begin.
I watched his dad stare through the window of his house. Watching his hopeful soapy son leave. Watching the wings he has given him unfold. Watching him quietly shift away.
I couldn’t breathe for the beauty of this young lad. For the face of his older father. For the 2 men that I wanted to hold with my arms. But I couldn’t. So I held them with my eyes.
The P plater didn’t see me. But his father did. He smiled.
We both breathed out.
Other times I find it hard to breathe because life takes charge in other ways. When the tenderness of the moment holds me too close.
And slices me up.
So my belly hurts.
Like the long syllabled word my friend now has. I want to google it, but was told not to. Especially now when it’s followed by words I do understand.
– stage 4
– frozen meals
It seems I’ve known him since we were all hopeful soapy P platers. He has taken my breath away from laughing too hard. He has taken my breath away with the notes on his guitar. He has taken my breath away at the devotion in the creation of his 2 daughters.
One so like her.
One so like him.
And now he has taken my breath away with his diagnosis. It’s sad. So fucking sad. And so hopelessly not fair. Just as every person I ask reassurance for kinda looks down, I won’t.
Every moment of hope. Every moment of beauty. Every moment of stillness – I will try to send to him.
Never underestimate the power of your intention.
Think chakra dance, power vinyasa and mediation.
We were all hopeful soapy P platers before. Our eyes were wide, our hearts were open. We were invincible. We were present. We were awake.
“Love the moment, and the energy of that moment will spread beyond all boundaries.”- Corita Kent.
Presence is a gift. To ourselves and to others. It reminds us of the process of our love. The impermanence of our doing. And the Grace of our being.
I chant a healing mantra at the end of every practice I do or teach. Be that a bending practice. A breathing practice. A being practice.
With this faith I’ve skied with the child who had to lay still for a very long time. With this faith I’ve sweated out at a gig with my lady with the new nipple. With this faith I’ve welcomed a nephew who seems to keep beating the odds, I know a shadow who recedes quietly each day, I have a backbone growing where I was too scared to hold one.
With this faith this morning I walked with my wobbly dog who heard all my prayers, through the space of the hopeful soapy teenager. And with the help of his dad’s eyes, I breathed out.
For the first time in a week.
Love to you JP. I’m chanting for you my friend.