When I first started to practice I understood the breath as a simple tool. A means to achieving the vaguely perceived ends of a meditation practice. However, I have learned that, as with so many aspects of meditation, there is a complex simplicity at work.
Recently I read a note on a friend’s calendar of daily thoughts. “Why fear death? When you are present death is not. And when death is present you are not.” So to borrow and adapt that idea to our breath, “When the breath is present you are. When it is not you are not.” A constant and beautiful companion. Always there, an anchor and a haven, ready to remind us that we live. Available to bring us into the moment and to our life.
As with a meditation practice there are so many connections, circles and layers that come through breath.
Intimate connections. How many parents have sat beside their sleeping child watching their small chests rise and fall and wondering at the miracle? How many of us have lain awake listening to the breathing of an intimate partner and felt blessed? How many times have we comforted another who, torn by grief, sobs and gasps for air?
Communal connections. The collective breath of a sangha meditating to the voice of a teacher. The intake of breath from a crowd awed by an amazing performance.
Sacred connections. The breathing of the planet swallowing in through its green lungs carbon dioxide and expelling the oxygen that give us life.
When my father lay dying in a bed that had been placed in his dining room because his own bed was too uncomfortable, the nurse told us to listen to his breath. “At the end you will hear its rhythm and sound change. And there will be the final few gasps.” Sharing that moment with my father I think now of how I might spend those last few moments of my life and if I will be aware of the first and final departure of my faithful companion.
We too often take our breath for granted by not acknowledging how special it is. Through meditation I am learning how to deepen my relationship with my constant companion.
Rene R.