m i n d f u l b r e a t h

Pull of the ocean and the roaring tide is bigger than my eyes or my design. Mat Kearney: Where We Gonna Go From Here

Don’t you sometimes just ache for the sudden rush of that superb and elevated connection to the Universe? Those moments when you are able to find the thread connecting your life to every life, to every thought, to every aspect and every atom of everything else, and as your fingertip brushes its delicate existence, you are suddenly pulled into its weaving movement? Oh, for that thrill as you are suddenly soaring through every possibility and every previous event, knowing the limitlessness of the Universe and laughing gleefully at its beautiful simplicity!

I realized yesterday as I sat down with my mother to play with pastels and an ocean waved climbed out of my fingertips that being near the ocean is a place I can often find that thread. Earlier we had watched a Deepak Chopra movie in which he discussed those things in our natural surroundings that can motivate our inner healing abilities. He spoke of the ocean as primordial, and that when we emerged from this primordial ocean we brought it with us into our bodies in that we are over 60% water in our physical makeup. While this certainly spoke to me, it was the surging ocean behind him that captured most of my attention. How is it that I live just a moment from the beach in all directions and yet I rarely seem to give myself time to absorb its constant, throbbing upliftment? I have thought of it so often lately… it must be time.

I hope this old train breaks down. Then I could take a walk around and see what there is to see.  Jack Johnson: Breakdown

Sometimes life screams past at a pace that blurs my vision, and before I know it, I have no idea exactly where I’ve taken myself.

As I sank deep into the warm water of my bath last night I became acutely aware of the passage of time and my ignorance to it.  I had pulled my hair high up on my head to keep it from the dipping into the water and realized it was staying there quite nicely, which meant it was a couple inches longer than when I last noticed.  My belly was out of the water, round and firm, and I realized just how much the baby had grown.  There were more towels on the bathroom shelves thanks to my mother’s assistance in doing laundry.  I realized weeks had passed, time had changed my world, and I had hardly noticed a thing.

I breathed deep for a bit, just noticing things anew, and then as I stepped back out of the bath, I made a pact with myself to try to be even more present in my day. I don’t want to miss a moment of this beautiful life.  And then an even more passionate desire sprang forth in me.  When this baby is born, I want to be excellent at noticing the present moment as often as I possibly can.  I’ll do whatever it takes to get to that point.  I really want to see this child grow.

There’s a white light that carries me home. Helps me focus when I am alone. Keeps on teaching me how to be loved…and to love…and to love…  Starsailor: White Light

Maybe it is pregnancy hormones or maybe it is rapidly moving to a new home. Maybe it is the feeling of being responsible for everyone else or maybe it is not wanting to think about anyone but myself. Maybe it is fatigue. Maybe it is winter. Maybe it is the constant, steady, unchanging wave of work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep. Whatever the cause, I lost myself. I split - no, splintered - into bits of who I am not.

When I go through change I seem to temporarily leave myself as a mechanism for avoiding stress. I hollow out my physical being, leaving only basic brain functions behind, and bang through the steps of transformation, keeping the deepest part of me whole and untouched, eagerly anticipating its new physical shell. I love when things are new. The changes that must come before can be excrutiating.

And yet, in a way that is new to me in these last couple of years, I am never away from myself for long before I feel that inward tug to return to myself. I cannot seem to be away for any length of time. And always, my path of return is to breathe in and breathe out the soul-filling air of love.

In a strange way, something held me back for a while from writing.  Sometimes there’s a shift like that, I guess, when I need to absorb more than I need to express.  I’m not sure I feel like I’ve even fully exited my absorption mode…but something told me it was time to benchmark; to draw a new line in the sand between where I’ve been and where I’m going.  This time I’m doing it with help.  I’m pregnant.

I know why the women say, “You can’t know until you’ve been through it.”  There are hardly words to describe the vast and intricate changes that occur on every level of your being.

Physically, I feel detached from my body. It is becoming this new thing, this vessel, this berth for a new life. I am no longer in charge - I must do what it asks of me. Literally, my daily actions are determined by my physical need in each moment. Emotionally, I am swinging from the most dramatic points on the spectrum. I love you, Little Baby. I am so exhausted, I feel like shit. Everyone stop being so excited when you hear, I didn’t win the lottery, I just totally changed everything about my life. I feel so calm and so prepared.

And then there’s this other part of me that is watching the whole experience, knowing it is as it should be, in the right moment at the right time, eager to fulfill a purpose that came with me into this life.  Already it has changed me forever:  I am a mother.

If you wanted to find peace of mind, you can find it anytime. Travis: Afterglow

I woke up this morning having fallen asleep on the couch in some sort of half-slump of exhaustion while watching television. With what seems like a disgusting frequency this winter, I am sick again. Not badly enough to stay home, but enough to be reminded constantly as my oxygen-deprived brain tries desperately to piece together the bits of my day into something meaningful and productive.

And yet. I woke up feeling a surge of release, a swell of newfound joy, and a thrum within of eager energy. I am not sure I could point my finger to exactly what is being let go, or what feels better. But really, who cares? Why explain miracles? It will only rip the magic from your heart.

Last night I wrote a letter to a new friend about cooperatively important things. It felt refreshing. I like to be in that space of knowing that the words flowing from my fingers or my lips are the truth. Maybe not everyone’s truth, but my truth. There was a peaceful, appreciative vibrational response from her in her reply that I think left us both feeling a sense of delicious afterglow that we had shared a beautiful moment of understanding between us. More of this, please, Universe.