With each breath, awaken to life. (Conversation).(Poem)

Human being is a breath that passes.

--PSALMS 104:29

We are breathing together. While doing anything we are breathing--outbreaths, inbreaths, like waves of the ocean, our perpetual movement of being, almost imperceptible. Our lifetime is based on breath; it is our treasure, our bottom line, our condition for being alive, for everything we do. Upon this breath we build all of living.

Our word for this little toe-in-the-ocean entry in our dictionary for living is BREATH. Like a finger pointing to the moon, this word points to the most ordinary, extraordinary action of our daily life. With each breath we are in the world, creating the world. With each breath we put the past away and open to the next astonishment. With each breath we are alive. By revealing this simplicity, I assert we are more, not less awake to being.

Ask lovers who experience breathtaking love what "breath" is for. And we are these lovers, each breath a gift of life to itself, each breath a gift of love, simple, unadorned, precious. A kiss is an exchange of breath, a conspiring, an inspiring with another, a breathing together. We marry daily our breath in the mystery of existence. My friend told me the love story of his great aunt and uncle, together so many years. She died in her beloved's arms saying, "Kiss me, just keep kissing me, don't stop kissing me." He breathed with her until he was alone with breath.

I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!

--ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Our first breath is a definitive moment of existence. We go from breathing with the blood corded to our mother to breathing the air common to all being. Until the last breathing, the ongoing breathing in and out cradles us, outlines and underscores the wonder of being alive. I think about times when my babies were small and their breath so quiet that I would put a mirror to their nostrils to check if they were still breathing. King Lear speaks of Cordelia in the same way:

Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or

stain the stone,

Why, then she lives

And later, realizing she is dead, Lear says,

Why should a dog, a horse,

a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all?

Thou'It come no more,

Never, never, never,

never, never!

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Think of a breath and a deep bow as the same. Sometimes simply the awareness of breath as a blessing is sufficient to call me to the simple experience of being alive and awake in this moment. What if I see to it that every breath is a reminder of the awe of life, an "Ahhh"? Each inspiration is a call to the breathtaking beauty of being. As I give each breath that meaning, it then has that meaning.

John is 46 years old, a pediatric surgeon who comes to me for acupuncture treatment. The label "asthma" brought him to me. When I asked "What does 'asthma' mean to you?" John said, "It means I am very aware of my breathing. I do not, I cannot take it for granted. I have medicine I take to help me breathe." "What is your embodied experience of this 'asthma'?" I asked. He then described sensations of heat and pressure in his upper chest and head, accompanied by thoughts such as "Uh-oh. I'm going to die if I can't get my breath." "I wonder if I can do the next surgery successfully?" "This young life under my hands is depending on me. What if I can't help?"

I asked him if he ever allows himself to be thanked by the parents of the children he operates on. "Usually not," he said. "Usually I'm thinking something self-deprecating, something like 'I took too long--I should have done it in four hours rather than six.'" As John revealed his sentencing of himself, I offered, "Suppose you take 'breathing' and 'thanking' as the same word? What if you simply went still and allowed yourself to be thanked? What if you allowed the parents to bow to you for the gifts you give to their children? They are thanking you for the continued breath of their beloved babies. What if, in a quiet, reflective way, you simply say, 'You are welcome.' In doing so you can call them to remember we are here together, breathing together. You call them to cherish this gift, all the while knowing that someday it will be otherwise and our breath-time will be over." Then I said, "John, you already call all of us to this anyway--life has asked you to be wide awake about breathing in bearing this word- world called 'asthma.' Through you, this wakefulness to breath, to life, belongs to all of us."

Data indicate that one in 20 of us in this country bears some "squawk" about breathing as a chronic concern. "Asthma" and "allergy" have become shorthand words. Even as we use these words as labels for ailments, we must not miss the glory of the phenomenon they point to--our breath. Breath is serious. It weds us to life and death. All of us. Always. All ways.

During the months before she died, my patient Bonnie used her pain as a drillmaster, an instructor. When she felt a wave of sharp constriction in her chest, she practiced coming to attention, absolutely still and alert, expecting nothing, listening to what she described as "babies breathing." She said she felt so free in those moments. She was pure being, doing nothing, simply breathing in the present moment. Bonnie practiced "now" and "breath" as the same word.

I, as you, dear reader, can practice wakefulness with each breath. We could, like Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk dedicated to peace on earth, add a word to each inhalation and each exhalation: "Breathing in, I breathe peace; breathing out, I smile," is one example. We can make our own breath prayers to call ourselves to mindful breathing. This day, my practice is to breathe in with the word "love" and to breathe out with "compassion." Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us: "Breathe! You are alive. Keep fully aware of it."

Breath transcends time zones, cultures, and places. It immerses all of us together in air as in a bath of being, a broth of oneness. We could not be without it. It is our quickening. With each breath, the blowing wind of being moves through us.

Student, tell me,   what is God? He is the breath inside   the breath.  KABIR 

Dianne M. Connelly, Ph.D., M.Ac.(UK), Dipl. Ac. (NCCA), is cofounder and chancellor of the Tai Sophia Institute in Laurel, Maryland, where she teaches and practices acupuncture. She is author of Traditional Acupuncture: The Law of the Five Elements and All Sickness is Home Sickness.

With each breath, awaken to life. (Conversation).(Poem)

Human being is a breath that passes.

--PSALMS 104:29

We are breathing together. While doing anything we are breathing--outbreaths, inbreaths, like waves of the ocean, our perpetual movement of being, almost imperceptible. Our lifetime is based on breath; it is our treasure, our bottom line, our condition for being alive, for everything we do. Upon this breath we build all of living.

Our word for this little toe-in-the-ocean entry in our dictionary for living is BREATH. Like a finger pointing to the moon, this word points to the most ordinary, extraordinary action of our daily life. With each breath we are in the world, creating the world. With each breath we put the past away and open to the next astonishment. With each breath we are alive. By revealing this simplicity, I assert we are more, not less awake to being.

Ask lovers who experience breathtaking love what "breath" is for. And we are these lovers, each breath a gift of life to itself, each breath a gift of love, simple, unadorned, precious. A kiss is an exchange of breath, a conspiring, an inspiring with another, a breathing together. We marry daily our breath in the mystery of existence. My friend told me the love story of his great aunt and uncle, together so many years. She died in her beloved's arms saying, "Kiss me, just keep kissing me, don't stop kissing me." He breathed with her until he was alone with breath.

I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!

--ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Our first breath is a definitive moment of existence. We go from breathing with the blood corded to our mother to breathing the air common to all being. Until the last breathing, the ongoing breathing in and out cradles us, outlines and underscores the wonder of being alive. I think about times when my babies were small and their breath so quiet that I would put a mirror to their nostrils to check if they were still breathing. King Lear speaks of Cordelia in the same way:

Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or

stain the stone,

Why, then she lives

And later, realizing she is dead, Lear says,

Why should a dog, a horse,

a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all?

Thou'It come no more,

Never, never, never,

never, never!

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Think of a breath and a deep bow as the same. Sometimes simply the awareness of breath as a blessing is sufficient to call me to the simple experience of being alive and awake in this moment. What if I see to it that every breath is a reminder of the awe of life, an "Ahhh"? Each inspiration is a call to the breathtaking beauty of being. As I give each breath that meaning, it then has that meaning.

John is 46 years old, a pediatric surgeon who comes to me for acupuncture treatment. The label "asthma" brought him to me. When I asked "What does 'asthma' mean to you?" John said, "It means I am very aware of my breathing. I do not, I cannot take it for granted. I have medicine I take to help me breathe." "What is your embodied experience of this 'asthma'?" I asked. He then described sensations of heat and pressure in his upper chest and head, accompanied by thoughts such as "Uh-oh. I'm going to die if I can't get my breath." "I wonder if I can do the next surgery successfully?" "This young life under my hands is depending on me. What if I can't help?"

I asked him if he ever allows himself to be thanked by the parents of the children he operates on. "Usually not," he said. "Usually I'm thinking something self-deprecating, something like 'I took too long--I should have done it in four hours rather than six.'" As John revealed his sentencing of himself, I offered, "Suppose you take 'breathing' and 'thanking' as the same word? What if you simply went still and allowed yourself to be thanked? What if you allowed the parents to bow to you for the gifts you give to their children? They are thanking you for the continued breath of their beloved babies. What if, in a quiet, reflective way, you simply say, 'You are welcome.' In doing so you can call them to remember we are here together, breathing together. You call them to cherish this gift, all the while knowing that someday it will be otherwise and our breath-time will be over." Then I said, "John, you already call all of us to this anyway--life has asked you to be wide awake about breathing in bearing this word- world called 'asthma.' Through you, this wakefulness to breath, to life, belongs to all of us."

Data indicate that one in 20 of us in this country bears some "squawk" about breathing as a chronic concern. "Asthma" and "allergy" have become shorthand words. Even as we use these words as labels for ailments, we must not miss the glory of the phenomenon they point to--our breath. Breath is serious. It weds us to life and death. All of us. Always. All ways.

During the months before she died, my patient Bonnie used her pain as a drillmaster, an instructor. When she felt a wave of sharp constriction in her chest, she practiced coming to attention, absolutely still and alert, expecting nothing, listening to what she described as "babies breathing." She said she felt so free in those moments. She was pure being, doing nothing, simply breathing in the present moment. Bonnie practiced "now" and "breath" as the same word.

I, as you, dear reader, can practice wakefulness with each breath. We could, like Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk dedicated to peace on earth, add a word to each inhalation and each exhalation: "Breathing in, I breathe peace; breathing out, I smile," is one example. We can make our own breath prayers to call ourselves to mindful breathing. This day, my practice is to breathe in with the word "love" and to breathe out with "compassion." Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us: "Breathe! You are alive. Keep fully aware of it."

Breath transcends time zones, cultures, and places. It immerses all of us together in air as in a bath of being, a broth of oneness. We could not be without it. It is our quickening. With each breath, the blowing wind of being moves through us.

Student, tell me,   what is God? He is the breath inside   the breath.  KABIR 

Dianne M. Connelly, Ph.D., M.Ac.(UK), Dipl. Ac. (NCCA), is cofounder and chancellor of the Tai Sophia Institute in Laurel, Maryland, where she teaches and practices acupuncture. She is author of Traditional Acupuncture: The Law of the Five Elements and All Sickness is Home Sickness.

With each breath, awaken to life. (Conversation).(Poem)

Human being is a breath that passes.

--PSALMS 104:29

We are breathing together. While doing anything we are breathing--outbreaths, inbreaths, like waves of the ocean, our perpetual movement of being, almost imperceptible. Our lifetime is based on breath; it is our treasure, our bottom line, our condition for being alive, for everything we do. Upon this breath we build all of living.

Our word for this little toe-in-the-ocean entry in our dictionary for living is BREATH. Like a finger pointing to the moon, this word points to the most ordinary, extraordinary action of our daily life. With each breath we are in the world, creating the world. With each breath we put the past away and open to the next astonishment. With each breath we are alive. By revealing this simplicity, I assert we are more, not less awake to being.

Ask lovers who experience breathtaking love what "breath" is for. And we are these lovers, each breath a gift of life to itself, each breath a gift of love, simple, unadorned, precious. A kiss is an exchange of breath, a conspiring, an inspiring with another, a breathing together. We marry daily our breath in the mystery of existence. My friend told me the love story of his great aunt and uncle, together so many years. She died in her beloved's arms saying, "Kiss me, just keep kissing me, don't stop kissing me." He breathed with her until he was alone with breath.

I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!

--ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Our first breath is a definitive moment of existence. We go from breathing with the blood corded to our mother to breathing the air common to all being. Until the last breathing, the ongoing breathing in and out cradles us, outlines and underscores the wonder of being alive. I think about times when my babies were small and their breath so quiet that I would put a mirror to their nostrils to check if they were still breathing. King Lear speaks of Cordelia in the same way:

Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or

stain the stone,

Why, then she lives

And later, realizing she is dead, Lear says,

Why should a dog, a horse,

a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all?

Thou'It come no more,

Never, never, never,

never, never!

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Think of a breath and a deep bow as the same. Sometimes simply the awareness of breath as a blessing is sufficient to call me to the simple experience of being alive and awake in this moment. What if I see to it that every breath is a reminder of the awe of life, an "Ahhh"? Each inspiration is a call to the breathtaking beauty of being. As I give each breath that meaning, it then has that meaning.

John is 46 years old, a pediatric surgeon who comes to me for acupuncture treatment. The label "asthma" brought him to me. When I asked "What does 'asthma' mean to you?" John said, "It means I am very aware of my breathing. I do not, I cannot take it for granted. I have medicine I take to help me breathe." "What is your embodied experience of this 'asthma'?" I asked. He then described sensations of heat and pressure in his upper chest and head, accompanied by thoughts such as "Uh-oh. I'm going to die if I can't get my breath." "I wonder if I can do the next surgery successfully?" "This young life under my hands is depending on me. What if I can't help?"

I asked him if he ever allows himself to be thanked by the parents of the children he operates on. "Usually not," he said. "Usually I'm thinking something self-deprecating, something like 'I took too long--I should have done it in four hours rather than six.'" As John revealed his sentencing of himself, I offered, "Suppose you take 'breathing' and 'thanking' as the same word? What if you simply went still and allowed yourself to be thanked? What if you allowed the parents to bow to you for the gifts you give to their children? They are thanking you for the continued breath of their beloved babies. What if, in a quiet, reflective way, you simply say, 'You are welcome.' In doing so you can call them to remember we are here together, breathing together. You call them to cherish this gift, all the while knowing that someday it will be otherwise and our breath-time will be over." Then I said, "John, you already call all of us to this anyway--life has asked you to be wide awake about breathing in bearing this word- world called 'asthma.' Through you, this wakefulness to breath, to life, belongs to all of us."

Data indicate that one in 20 of us in this country bears some "squawk" about breathing as a chronic concern. "Asthma" and "allergy" have become shorthand words. Even as we use these words as labels for ailments, we must not miss the glory of the phenomenon they point to--our breath. Breath is serious. It weds us to life and death. All of us. Always. All ways.

During the months before she died, my patient Bonnie used her pain as a drillmaster, an instructor. When she felt a wave of sharp constriction in her chest, she practiced coming to attention, absolutely still and alert, expecting nothing, listening to what she described as "babies breathing." She said she felt so free in those moments. She was pure being, doing nothing, simply breathing in the present moment. Bonnie practiced "now" and "breath" as the same word.

I, as you, dear reader, can practice wakefulness with each breath. We could, like Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk dedicated to peace on earth, add a word to each inhalation and each exhalation: "Breathing in, I breathe peace; breathing out, I smile," is one example. We can make our own breath prayers to call ourselves to mindful breathing. This day, my practice is to breathe in with the word "love" and to breathe out with "compassion." Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us: "Breathe! You are alive. Keep fully aware of it."

Breath transcends time zones, cultures, and places. It immerses all of us together in air as in a bath of being, a broth of oneness. We could not be without it. It is our quickening. With each breath, the blowing wind of being moves through us.

Student, tell me,   what is God? He is the breath inside   the breath.  KABIR 

Dianne M. Connelly, Ph.D., M.Ac.(UK), Dipl. Ac. (NCCA), is cofounder and chancellor of the Tai Sophia Institute in Laurel, Maryland, where she teaches and practices acupuncture. She is author of Traditional Acupuncture: The Law of the Five Elements and All Sickness is Home Sickness.

With each breath, awaken to life. (Conversation).(Poem)

Human being is a breath that passes.

--PSALMS 104:29

We are breathing together. While doing anything we are breathing--outbreaths, inbreaths, like waves of the ocean, our perpetual movement of being, almost imperceptible. Our lifetime is based on breath; it is our treasure, our bottom line, our condition for being alive, for everything we do. Upon this breath we build all of living.

Our word for this little toe-in-the-ocean entry in our dictionary for living is BREATH. Like a finger pointing to the moon, this word points to the most ordinary, extraordinary action of our daily life. With each breath we are in the world, creating the world. With each breath we put the past away and open to the next astonishment. With each breath we are alive. By revealing this simplicity, I assert we are more, not less awake to being.

Ask lovers who experience breathtaking love what "breath" is for. And we are these lovers, each breath a gift of life to itself, each breath a gift of love, simple, unadorned, precious. A kiss is an exchange of breath, a conspiring, an inspiring with another, a breathing together. We marry daily our breath in the mystery of existence. My friend told me the love story of his great aunt and uncle, together so many years. She died in her beloved's arms saying, "Kiss me, just keep kissing me, don't stop kissing me." He breathed with her until he was alone with breath.

I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!

--ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Our first breath is a definitive moment of existence. We go from breathing with the blood corded to our mother to breathing the air common to all being. Until the last breathing, the ongoing breathing in and out cradles us, outlines and underscores the wonder of being alive. I think about times when my babies were small and their breath so quiet that I would put a mirror to their nostrils to check if they were still breathing. King Lear speaks of Cordelia in the same way:

Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or

stain the stone,

Why, then she lives

And later, realizing she is dead, Lear says,

Why should a dog, a horse,

a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all?

Thou'It come no more,

Never, never, never,

never, never!

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Think of a breath and a deep bow as the same. Sometimes simply the awareness of breath as a blessing is sufficient to call me to the simple experience of being alive and awake in this moment. What if I see to it that every breath is a reminder of the awe of life, an "Ahhh"? Each inspiration is a call to the breathtaking beauty of being. As I give each breath that meaning, it then has that meaning.

John is 46 years old, a pediatric surgeon who comes to me for acupuncture treatment. The label "asthma" brought him to me. When I asked "What does 'asthma' mean to you?" John said, "It means I am very aware of my breathing. I do not, I cannot take it for granted. I have medicine I take to help me breathe." "What is your embodied experience of this 'asthma'?" I asked. He then described sensations of heat and pressure in his upper chest and head, accompanied by thoughts such as "Uh-oh. I'm going to die if I can't get my breath." "I wonder if I can do the next surgery successfully?" "This young life under my hands is depending on me. What if I can't help?"

I asked him if he ever allows himself to be thanked by the parents of the children he operates on. "Usually not," he said. "Usually I'm thinking something self-deprecating, something like 'I took too long--I should have done it in four hours rather than six.'" As John revealed his sentencing of himself, I offered, "Suppose you take 'breathing' and 'thanking' as the same word? What if you simply went still and allowed yourself to be thanked? What if you allowed the parents to bow to you for the gifts you give to their children? They are thanking you for the continued breath of their beloved babies. What if, in a quiet, reflective way, you simply say, 'You are welcome.' In doing so you can call them to remember we are here together, breathing together. You call them to cherish this gift, all the while knowing that someday it will be otherwise and our breath-time will be over." Then I said, "John, you already call all of us to this anyway--life has asked you to be wide awake about breathing in bearing this word- world called 'asthma.' Through you, this wakefulness to breath, to life, belongs to all of us."

Data indicate that one in 20 of us in this country bears some "squawk" about breathing as a chronic concern. "Asthma" and "allergy" have become shorthand words. Even as we use these words as labels for ailments, we must not miss the glory of the phenomenon they point to--our breath. Breath is serious. It weds us to life and death. All of us. Always. All ways.

During the months before she died, my patient Bonnie used her pain as a drillmaster, an instructor. When she felt a wave of sharp constriction in her chest, she practiced coming to attention, absolutely still and alert, expecting nothing, listening to what she described as "babies breathing." She said she felt so free in those moments. She was pure being, doing nothing, simply breathing in the present moment. Bonnie practiced "now" and "breath" as the same word.

I, as you, dear reader, can practice wakefulness with each breath. We could, like Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk dedicated to peace on earth, add a word to each inhalation and each exhalation: "Breathing in, I breathe peace; breathing out, I smile," is one example. We can make our own breath prayers to call ourselves to mindful breathing. This day, my practice is to breathe in with the word "love" and to breathe out with "compassion." Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us: "Breathe! You are alive. Keep fully aware of it."

Breath transcends time zones, cultures, and places. It immerses all of us together in air as in a bath of being, a broth of oneness. We could not be without it. It is our quickening. With each breath, the blowing wind of being moves through us.

Student, tell me,   what is God? He is the breath inside   the breath.  KABIR 

Dianne M. Connelly, Ph.D., M.Ac.(UK), Dipl. Ac. (NCCA), is cofounder and chancellor of the Tai Sophia Institute in Laurel, Maryland, where she teaches and practices acupuncture. She is author of Traditional Acupuncture: The Law of the Five Elements and All Sickness is Home Sickness.