The only gift left unopened.
I am living. Yes, but is my every thought and action imbued with a quality of uncompromisingly honest and ruthless vitality? Am I alive?
It all starts and ends with the breath. Concept and conclusion. Our USB portal to this world, to each moment of our every reality. It is a cyclical affair, in and out, punctuated by momentary arrests that sometimes keep us stuck in a moment, feeling unable to escape it. Other days it is a flowing river until we find ourselves knee deep in torrential thought and eddys of breathlessness. Choppy thinking in shallow breathing waters.
We have been given this elegant gift, the only gift of any value and we nonchalantly leave it under the tree, barely engage with it, hardly think to explore beyond its obviousness. We breathe just enough to walk, talk, eat, to be stirred and compelled on by lifes unexpected sweetnesses and dramas. No more than the system requires. The most barren kind of living. Barely breathing bodies, barely aware of our luck.
I watch my children still living in its value, as their bellies rise and fall, rise and fall, pregnant with hope and love and dreams and all the sweet air they can fill their bodies with. Why do we no longer hold our gift in awe? Run our grateful hands around it with eager enquiry. Wonder. What might lie beyond the wrapping?
If we could just take the time to listen, feel, smooth out the edges, fill, master the breath like a loom of silk and sit to watch it weave its magic. Still. To be only our breath, even for a fraction of the day. Then we would have an awareness that would scream inexorably from every mountaintop with the endlessly vital energy of silent deliverance. The sweetest gift of coming home.