to breathe

I tried to hold my breath for as long as possible underwater when I was small; like most kids fascinated with their ability to swim and the magic of being underwater. I puffed on cigarettes and other more illegal smoking substances in my teens, I kissed until I had to come up for air. I discovered Yoga at 18 and for the first time was aware of my breathing as thing I could manipulate and control for increased metal calm. I held my breath in labour, I did lots of things in my three labours with my breathe, graceful and exquisitely relaxing, harsh and tormentingly brutal. And then I discovered again my breathe. In quite a new way: I listen now for the wheeze, each breath that happens without a thin veil or web covering it is a victory and relief, on the other side of the coin it's anxiety (is my trachea about to collapse?). Am I being ridiculous? For quite a while my dh thought my chest pain and anxiety about the restriction I feel in my chest was all just 'in my head'. Because, of course, the minute one thinks about breathing, well one is thinking about it; trying to control it, perhaps breathing more forcefully, more often, trying to ascertain whether the wheeze is on the inhalation or the exhalation, at the beginning of the end of the breath, is the restriction from the throat or the lungs?



Man.... can I just say I am so frickin tired of breathing :lol Obviously that's a really shit joke. Since I'll do anything to carry on breathing. It's exhausting, sometimes I am glad to sleep, just, you know, so I am not listening to myself breathe. I can no longer use deep calm breathing to calm myself since the very breathe is the essence of my anxiety. How absurd is that? The back of the throat breathing I learnt in Ashtanga Yoga has left me, bereft. Gone some where else. Because my lung capacity and shrunk some. Why? Well, I'm not sure right now. Waiting for referrals takes some time, and so I am in that some time limbo of waiting (and hoping). My CRP (c-reactive protein) is normal thought right now which is very good, it means no inflammation is happening..... which is fab but I am still left wondering about the lung/chest stuff which is a 3-4 month old tiring bore for my poor dh (I imagine) who gets the run down and my including rhetoric each day.



I am on the mend from a tummy bug (or something) which has left me weak and quivering and tired and with sore ribs. I am slurping coconut water (electrolyte balance) and raspberry leaf tea (astringent) and trying to eat some of the gentle roast vegetables cooked in coconut oil my dh has made me. Luckily (god I don't actually mean this) Felix is a bit ill and thus uber chilled out on the sofa with a cold and Isaac is doing his school/unschool experiment still, so it's only whirlwind-minx-fox-girl Esmé in full swing to be mindful of and for me to amuse minute by bursting full minute.



So there you go. I have pushed myself up from cushions near the hearth (when I get a space there - it's in demand that favourite-sacred spot) and wrapped myself gratefully in a beautifully extravagant and silky soft cashmere and merino wool coat/wrap my MIL gave me (can't say I've ever shopped in Jaeger, that requires money) and forced my trembly bird-legs outside.



It still transforms me. Every second. I get drunk with happiness. Life is so full of beauty and colour it takes my breathe away (good pun aye? - see I can still crack one). But it does and I am in my element. I look at beads of water droplets suspended in rows full and ripe along bare branches and nearly burst myself open at their very being. The grey of the tree trunks and the apple green moss....mist thrumming the air, so dank and rich with water you practically rehydrate with each lungful (I guess I am still thinking about that breathing...). The huge Horse Chestnut leaves, a handful left only, clinging like fairy lights; I laugh at their exquisiteness and daring fun to stay tight to their branches even now when their peers have long since swirled away on wind and water to be again transformed.



And so I cling with all my might. I want no other life, for this is the one which shall transport me to where ever I need to go. It does, it will. I choose and choose and subtly the breathe of life takes me along for it's swirling journey and sometimes I twist and change it's course. That's good too. For their is no right or wrong in such things, only life. I think I am becoming some sort of terribly boring Buddhist:) But I care not even a jot. Some days after coming inside I feel so calm and refreshed I could swear my breathing is gentle and soft and not hurting. I saw a sign in a window for Meditation Nights in my little town, I have been dreaming of attending one, thinking I need a space for my mind to still and calm and flower which way it will (and still my jagged breathing?). But it's 7-9 pm. Now all you mama's know the significance of those hours. I am guessing it must be a man thing, no women would surely pick such child-bed-mama hours. But I'll find a way I think.



Finding a way. We all do, somehow.