Your Breath is a Gift (12:18 min)

The extreme cold this winter has been literally breathtaking. I have stepped outside to walk my dog and found myself uncomfortable within seconds, my shoulders contracting and my breath shortening as I duck my chin down into my scarf to cover my nose and mouth. These are the times I remember a dear friend who lived year-round in Burlington, Vermont telling me "Hannah, you really just have to relax into the cold." At the time, we were walking through the streets of Florence, Italy on our semester abroad and I was realizing that Italy DID get cold in winter and that the houses were not heated like I was used to back in Baltimore, Maryland. I had slept cold, woke up cold, and I was walking cold. I was so uncomfortable that I was cursing at the cold. My friend told me to take a deep breath, stretch my arms up, and interlace my fingers behind my head like I was lying on a beach in Hawaii. I thought he was nuts, but after some practice, his tactics did make me feel better.  

I've needed to remind myself about this principle of deeping my breath and relaxing into discomfort as I've become a student again at the age of 37 and am struggling to finance my education and make time for coursework amidst my life as a teacher. In the last months of 2017, as I was going through this exciting, but agonizing process, I came across the poem "Affirmations" by Eve L. Ewing. The first line of which is:

"Speak this to yourself
until you know it is true.
I believe that I woke up today
and my lungs were working,
miraculously,
my voice can sing and murmur and ask,
miraculously...."

The poem hung out with me for weeks as I doubted myself and studied remedial high school math in preparation for my GRE exams. Because I am planning to study speech language pathology, the lines felt like they were urging me on and telling me: Hey, it's not that dire. You are still breathing! You've got a voice. People need help finding their voices. Keep the faith. The final lines of the poem returned me to a bigger picture outlook and bathed me in gratitude each time I read them:

"....I believe that the sun shines
if not here, then somewhere.
Somewhere it rains,
and things will grow green and wonderful.
Somewhere inside me, too, it rains,
and things will grow green and wonderful.
Sometimes my insides rain from the inside out.
And then I know
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive."

I was alive and I knew inside of me things were growing green and wonderful even as tears of frustration pooled in the creases of my eyes.

Exam day came and I made my way through as expected - scoring way above average in verbal, below average in math (but with far more correct answers than I would have anticipated given my 22-year absence from the subject,) and right on target for analytical reasoning. I ended the year applying to study the undergraduate prerequisite courses I'll need to have before I apply for a graduate school program next fall. It was an intense time preparing me for what I anticipate will be a continued period of intensity and transformation over the next few years.

I'm looking forward to recording new meditations in 2018, knowing that I'll be simultaneously studying about the mystery of the human voice and the process of communication as I record them. This month, I wanted to share a really simple breath-awareness practice that provides guidance for relaxing your body, becoming aware of the natural flow of your breath and quietly being with your experience. The practice can be done seated or reclining. Use this practice to remember the precious gift of breathing and to affirm: you are alive, you are alive, you are alive. 

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