Learning to Breathe

I remember how it felt.

Knees slightly bent, pulled up--reclining against his chest. It was almost time, but not quite. Anticipation, fear, excitement…so real I could pluck them out of the air around me.

I want you to find something in the room… she said. It can be anything. Focus on that object. What color is it? How big? What is the shape? Do not take your eyes off that focal point. Now…breathe.

And I did. Pulled air from outside in, felt invisible tendrils inhabit lungs and blood and tissue. In went fear, transforming into something altogether different as it traveled through my body and reached the exhalation point through parted lips.

Breathe through, she said.

It seemed so easy.

But when the time came, it was not so. Who could anticipate such pain? So deep, so far inside.

I wanted to hold my breath. Wanted to stop breathing at all.

Breathe through, he whispered, as I crushed his hand in mine.

Breathe through.

Birthing a dream is no less painful. A different pain, yes, but one that runs deep.

Why do we think that death comes only at the end of life? When, each time I hold my breath something dies inside?

Breathe through, He whispers.

I choose my Focal Point. It cannot be just anything.

Sometimes I forget to breathe. My eyes stray. Desire and fear flood lungs…threaten to break open fleshy confines and gush forth.

Breathe through, He whispers.

So I do. It’s not that easy. But, one breath at a time, I go on.

Learning to breathe again.