Breath

Stillness, centering
Exquisite equilibrium
in the pause between --
Was it out or in?

The rhythm begins again
Taking time to observe
What a gift it is
Infusing matter with spirit.

The body like a sail
Filling with wind.
Watching, I take the rudder.
Attention becomes intention.

I set a course
For this vessel I inhabit
By simply making what is automatic
Conscious.

I ride breath
Like a spider sailing the wind.
Held aloft by the thread of my awareness.
Inhalation gathering, grounding --
A sea anchor filling.
Power summoned and held
In celebration of being.

The body's outline
Inked in by air,
Indelible if only for a moment.
It is enough.

I arrive at rest,
So full I bleed into the universe.
Off the page
And into possibility.

The wave of exhalation crests
I slip inside the curl,
Gliding long, slow and light
Until the water becomes froth
Laced with air.
And the cycle begins again.

Life, length, breadth, breath, depth, death
In and out --
Each a chance
To choose.  A choice.

Attachment?
Patterned and predictable
A pretty and familiar prison...

Or freedom?
Following heart and soul's desire.

(Be)Longing

I want my old self back.
The one that plunged deep into dreams,
careless of consequences.
The one that embraced love fearlessly,
giving without hesitation --
no thought to wherewithal's or whither's,
no fingers surreptitiously counting entries
on some karmic balance sheet.

A self that drank in the sea,
saw horizons beckoning,
smelled the sweetness of salt
on sun-drenched skin --
never imagining the susurration of waves
could whisper a language of loss,
the melding of blue into blue
at the edge of the world
signal annihilation, not exhilaration.

I want the wand that wreaked
this spell on my perspective,
transforming desire into drudgery,
the glitter of the unknown
to a haze of arbitrary choices.
The spell that stole my faith in Meaning,
reducing it to a word with seven letters --
as random as a cloud of ashes
puffed by a gust of wind.

I'll wave it in reverse --
Not reliving, but relieving!
Releasing my heart from its suspension
in futility, like a bubble of foam
so I can run once again with the waves,
build castles in sand,
be aware of the incoming tide and not caring.
Simply focusing on creation and delight!