Breath

These days, I am trying to make space to be still.

Before I go to bed most nights, I light a candle and turn off the lights. I lie down in the silence, the cool, the quiet, and I set my phone to play a meditation, a prayer.

Go to your breath.

It is so hard to quiet my mind. There is always too much to do. Too much to worry about. Too many questions to ask. Too many things to think about

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

I spend more time than I care to admit these days in what I would loosely call a crisis of knowing.

Like: “How do I know that anything is real?”

“If there is something real, how do I know it?”

“What if asking all of these questions is just pointless anyway?”

In. And out.

Several months ago, something in my brain short-circuited. There was a surge of emotion as the pain and anxiety I had been suppressing came to a head. And then everything went dark. Everything went quiet.

It was like all of the things I thought I knew were sucked out into a vacuum, leaving me behind in a void of wondering what was real, if I mattered.

In. And out.

As the months wore on, things in my brain calmed down. The darkness felt less oppressive, the silence less deafening. I could start to make a way forward.

But still, I am haunted by the question of where to go now. When all of your answers are swept away, how do you find new ones to fill the space in your chest that begs to be filled?

In. And out.

In one of the Genesis creation stories, God is said to create humans by fashioning them from the dust of the Earth and breathing into them the breath of life.

Regardless of one’s particular feelings about the book of Genesis, I find something strangely comforting about this, the idea that we are made of dust and breath.

It reminds me that I am small. It reminds me that I am loved.

Dust you are, and to dust, you shall return.

Dust and breath.

In. And out.

I am trying to find God in the place where I lost Him. In darkness. In silence.

So most nights, I set aside time to be still. I listen to a prayer or spiritual meditation in hopes that if I can make space in my chest, something better than the questions will fill it.

In silence, in stillness, I am learning to make room for something outside of myself.

I am learning to not be afraid of the questions.

I am learning to be dust and breath.

I am learning to listen again.

 

 

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One thought on “Breath

  1. Thanks for sharing this…I think so many people go through this and can’t put it into words. You did so beautifully. You are beautifully and wonderfully made. And you are indeed loved my dear.

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