Breathe

Given 15 minutes to talk about leadership, a former congressman taught those in attendance how to properly breathe. And thus a Holy Week reflection from yours truly came to be:

Sometimes it’s the simple stuff that gets lost by the wayside in this world. Maybe it is just a matter of the way we sit, the amount of air we allow to flow thru our bodies, the energy it gives us.

And maybe that’s just it right there—energy. Einstein reduced us to mere embodiments of it, & perhaps there’s a point to that too: we meddle in silly stuff like biology, complicate it w/ psychology & sociology in a world where economics & politics overwhelm us into a sickness we even bother to describe as societal—never mind the strain you give yourself being content w/ shallow breaths, shortening your life as you speak.

But of course science has prolonged life expectancy. Reality has dictated the need for the added years: to see things thru, to make up for things. The immediacy of now cannot achieve its own bliss; we live in a world tainted by management concepts: invest now, reap later. Later often becomes unworthy of the wait.

Under such a way of life, every hour hurts except the last. Still, we live under the notion of prolonging that end, living in such sadness if not like zombies.

Perhaps there’s wisdom in saying it’s all about interaction, & not on the molecular level or ones made in the contexts of boardrooms. I’m talking of a level higher, transcendental, w/c allows the silly things of this world to merely fall into place.

I’m talking about a horizon seemingly comprehensible to only Gods or saints. Paul once claimed in a song a remedy for times of trouble. Churchgoers claimed it was God; others puffed not quite.

I shake my head to both notions—in between moans like whiffs of smoke on my ear as I cradle my love’s head w/ one hand, the other firm around her thigh as my torso seeks reprieve in the warmth of her, a cozy portal to the heavens or what we men would like to believe is God’s dwelling.

But never mind perspective—that’s what we’re trying to rid. Let it be, said Paul, & there’s a simplicity there we should not rape, a silence we should not break w/ deafening impositions of silly things like meaning.

I hear the echo of a poet: read the lines before diving in between them. Never mind if he was coddling his nth bottle in a beerhouse where kids half his age sing along to Top 10 hits off-key. He remained seated upright on a Monobloc chair amid a table of intensity—icy ground about to break because of silly things like what we believed.

The poet remained calm, taking in his lung’s full capacity. If only he then he alone was to keep the moment afloat—it’s in the energy he was open to, the energy he allowed to exude from himself.

There will be plenty of time for squabbles in lifetimes science so sadly prolongs. For now, let it be, let it be, whisper words of wisdom, let it be.