ROMO - a radical queer Xicana cabroncita, art making, word slinging revolutionary making observations about the personal and the political...with the occasional weather report
Monday, July 12, 2010
Breath
I'm having some trouble breathing these days. It's not like the hard drawn breath of life's surpises that knock the wind out of you; things like falling out of a tree and landing flat out, or maybe a broken heart, the loss of a family member, a job, etc. It's not even like over exertion from climbing a mountain, running hard, going up the stairs.
I simply can't breathe. It's scary. It's been going on for a little while now and I have finally come to the conclusion that it won't go away, I can't ignore it, I cannot breathe.
Most of us, we take our breath for granted. It comes in and goes out, there is no thought to its function. And now it doesn't, well it does, just not as clean and easy as it used to.
Not being able to breathe well, it makes me think a lot about my breath now. I think about my first breath as I left my mother's body, how our breaths must have mingled when she held me the first time. I wonder how many breaths there were in all the times I uttered "I love you". I remember that it took exactly three breaths to tell her, my most beloved, that I loved her. I wonder how many panting breaths were involved in the birth of my child. How my breath felt upon her newborn cheek. How many breaths were gasped in the throes of passionate embraces. How many inhales and exhales have my triumphs been fueled by. How many breaths of celebration when baby girl graduated. I think about the whoosh of lungs emptying from a belly buster in the lake. I stumble over the memories of the jagged slashes of breath when my heart lay shattered, my sobs choked off because I couldn't get my breath. How many breaths did it take for all of my angry words to asail tender hearts. I wonder how many breaths did I spend in great gales of laughter, laughing till my sides hurt and tears stood in my eyes. I think of all the breaths that ferried my curse words to unsuspecting ears. I think about all the breaths given to worry, to hope, to sorrow, to conversation, to quiet contemplation, to creativity, to joy; all the breaths that have made this life mine.
I'm a bit afraid of this development, this feeling that I cannot breathe. I do not know what it portends. But I do know that I have never before considered the workings of breath or what it must mean were it to cease. Whatever it is, I have finally accepted that it's not going away, the doctor is mandated.
I'm afraid. I don't know why, but I am. But maybe, hopefully, I'll give more breath to sighs of relief and this will be but a melodramatic footnote.
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