The breath is with me today, as I practice for my experience with the radiation machine. I need to breathe in evenly, and hold my breath, so that my heart drops and is not radiated along with the breast. A voice will guide me, as well as a silly pacman face, so I have auditory and visual clues. Because of this new, expensive machine, I cannot make a mistake. It will monitor my breath, and shut off if I am inhaling or exhaling at the wrong time. All of this has me very aware of my breath, so this is what comes this morning.
Rich Breath, Rich Life
Breath,
a bucket I fill with sand,
make sand castles,
to lift,
and texture the beach.
Fairy homes
wash in and out,
cleanse,
in the life,
of the sea -
I hone the breath,
pace and meter, texture
with buckets of sand,
fill the sea with the taste of form,
as sand castles
leave the land.
I am reminded of a quote by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “He lives most life whoever breathes most air,” but this morning I am with the quality of how we breathe, the texture, and how we form and move the air. I hum and wash in the tone, find the points, and use it like sand to cleanse.
I tie my breath to the moon
tidal as the sea,
leashed on currents,
like the dance of bees.
