I forgot to write yesterday because I’d gotten sick and today I’m still getting through it. I often ask myself why I get the common cold every now and then. I don’t seem to get it during stressful periods of my life, when I feel the need to remain switched on and alert. However, very soon after that, when I allow myself to relax and let go… I often develop a cold. I used to think that there was something wrong with my immunity before, something I needed to fix and it was something that frustrated me. But this time, I’m actually enjoying the experience. It’s a message my body is sending to me – well done, you deserve a break, slow down a little now. It also tells me: remember you need to breathe. When we feel pushed by external forces, we are so busy tending to other things that we forget the basics. Get up in the morning and breathe. Breathe slowly. Breathe in and out. There is nothing like a blockage of the sinuses to remind you of the treasure that is your breath.
When I am truly relaxed, I love indulging in the idea that there is only one thing on my to do list today: breathe. I start to be fascinated by the fact that all this time, while my mind has been focused on other things, there is something that has been breathing for me. What is that thing? I often wonder to myself. That thing that makes you change from breathing in, to breathing out and vice versa. It’s quite amazing, that I don’t need to consciously make that decision myself. I see this moment when I’m sick as a chance to reacquaint myself with the thing that’s been doing my breathing for me. While I was stressing out about being abandoned, not being good enough or chasing my goals. I sit down, and I just notice my breathing. I don’t really judge it, like I used to in the past. Now, I laugh – I used to think that I breathed wrongly, I used to think that every single aspect of my being needed correcting. But now I remember that everything you pay attention to corrects itself simply because you’re paying attention to it.
So I’m here, sitting half in the sun and the shade. A shiny steel radiator is showering heat from high above me, fixed to the ceiling, warming me gently on one side. The sun fights its way through the clouds, glowing brighter and softer as they move over it… the rays reaching me and warming me from the other side. The ocean is so close, the wind is pushing the waves up and out of hiding, spraying violently when it hits the shore. The leaves of the palms sway like little dancers up in the air, the runners and surfers move quickly in an effort to warm up the body and fight the cold.
But I’m sitting in this calm little corner, as I smell the scent of coffee and salt mixing in the air. That vague time of the day when people order both breakfast and lunch. There is very little movement in this little corner other than the typing of my fingers on the key board, and the rising and falling of my chest. The breathing is a little heavy, congested, but not blocked. In the reflection of my screen I see my shoulders rise. Apparently this isn’t the correct way to breathe. It’s very inefficient if I breathe in a shallow way from my chest while I’m at rest. As if I am stressed about something, although I am not able to pin down the exact source of the stress. I don’t let it bother me. It could be good stress.
The noise outside of my little corner is actually quite deafening if I think about it. Everyone is talking, a lot of people have important things to say. Some are laughing, some exude tension, two people sit next to me and share a slice of cake while they talk about life. There is the soft beat of music in the background, the whirring of the coffee machine, the clanking of utensils in the kitchen, the buzz of the blender making the next smoothie. The shuffling of feet as people walk to collect their coffees, or to drop their empty cups in the bin. I notice a man sitting a few tables away, he sits silently and reads his newspaper. There are multiple levels of noise but underneath it there is the silence that I share with his man who reads.
The internal silence, where there is only the sound of my breathing. It’s a silence we all share, but rarely enjoy. I sink myself into it, and the outside becomes a singular sheet of noise that slips away somewhere into the background – unimportant. There are so many smells in the air too. The scent of bacon arrives at the next table, salty like the sea, it clears the passages of my nose. The oil from fried potatoes is thick, the bitterness of the coffee lays on top of it and the sting of vinegar cuts through it. After a while, that begins to fade as well and I learn the scent of the room overall. It smells like the enjoyment and pleasure which a good meal always gives you.
The atmosphere dips further, becoming a big, muted thing and I feel the air flowing through my nose. My mouth is closed shut. I shift focus from the scent which enters my nose to the natural suction of air into my body. I notice that it plays a function. The function of detecting the outside environment, which gives me emotions – feelings that guide me as to what I should do in this situation. I don’t even listen to those feelings, even they fade into the background. I know that I am safe, even if I may not feel it, and I let myself be carried by this knowledge. I rest in it, allow myself to be rocked by it like the arms of a mother might rock her child back and forth. I notice that my stomach begins to move now, and relaxation weighs on my shoulders keeping them still. In and out, it’s amazing how my body just knows what to do.
Slowly, the outside world doesn’t seem so interesting anymore – because what’s going on inside me is a miracle. It is a pure miracle. Even the chill in the air, the sudden absence of the sun under a thick blanket of clouds, doesn’t distract me from the absolute deliciousness of breathing. Soon enough, I don’t control it anymore, I let it control me and I ride it. Like a wave. When I breathe in, I rise with it. When I finish my exhale, I crash with it. I don’t fear anything because I know that I will take my next breath, and the next and the next. And somehow just knowing that, lets all the mysterious non-specific stress I’d been feeling fade into the background. Nothing really matters apart from this moment. This moment where I reacquaint myself with the one who resides between my breaths.
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