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every week or so i guide an online meditation,

sometimes in dutch, or,

when non dutch folk arrive,

in english.


usually, people join, which is nice.


you can find the recordings right here.


after the meditation, it’s story time.

usually people stay and listen, which is nice.

sometimes a conversation slowly awakens,

other times,

not.


this time, david whyte’s ‘breath’ brings story time to life, and

in the recording you can listen along, or read the text below.





BREATH

is a word that wants us to live in our mouths in the same way that it can live in our own bodies: without undue effort, and left to itself, relying on the easy, rested, autonomic give and take of the body itself. Real rest is the breath simply looking after itself and looking after everything else as it does it. Breath is not only an invitation into the body but the essence of the way we already know how to live in that body. Easy, relaxed, breathing always leads to surprise: at how centred we already are, how unhurried we are underneath it all, how patient we never knew we could be. 


Breath is a word that breathes deeply of its own self, asking us in turn to breathe even as we follow its long, stretching vowel sound and its gentle, arriving tide of air that in the end, forms the sweet final sound of the word itself, flowing out of our bodies and into the waiting, listening world. Breath is a self-compassionate word that is difficult to pronounce harshly. In speaking the word breath, the last soft ending in the very last letters are like the sound of water coming to rest on a sloping beach, telling us in effect of the way our breath has reached within the word itself some shoreline upon which it will rest and then recede and return again, back into the very body that was so instrumental in its first creation. 


Breath is the very tidal word that carries the very essence of our very tidal identity, where just the act of saying the word, culminates in that momentary, invitational  silence at its end, out of which the next in-breath is naturally born. Physiologically we do not need to breath in, we just need to breathe out fully and the in-breath follows as natural as the body’s natural wish to go on living. We are tidal creatures; always giving and always waiting to receive; always arriving and always about to say goodbye: we begin in some form of silence, live through the breathing exchange of a given life and end again in another form of silence. We are here and we are somehow not quite, a coming and a going, and in every religious inheritance, breath is the essence of that understanding, of our passing through, of our poignant transience, the way we appear and disappear, breath is the essence of prayer. 

David Whyte



—











and for those of you having trouble with my beautiful handwriting (myself included), and not wanting to miss even one syllable of this major work, here it is in zeroes and ones, with added title:



then that:



that,

then that,


and then,

that!




—

ok, that was that then, or then that. anyway, ciao (this is not part of the poem. but it could be viewed as part of the philosophy behind the poem, i imagine).







i have observed ducks for quite some time.



sometimes, two of them have a fight.

afterwards,

tension still in the air and body,

they move away from each other,

dip their head under water, rise up, shake their body

from head to tail feathers,

and

tada!

tension gone,

free again.


It’s pretty neat.


We humans would be well-served to exhibit similar behavior.


In the meantime,

it could be wise to have an imaginative DJ around,

like at the olympics.


Watch the ducks go at it from 09:50,

and hear the DJ and John Lennon defuse the tension:




So, when in a fight, wait for a DJ to solve your problems,

or maybe just learn to shake your tail feathers.



-

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©2022

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