the yogi’s creed

Breath is the worship of this blessed moment, in this blessed moment, in this present heartbeat where the Sacred and the Mundane dance together, until the boundaries between them blissfully blur–until all boundaries and dichotomies and binaries blur. It is life inspired, in the literal etymological sense–breath into; into breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is the surgeon’s scalpel, piercing into my deepest parts, dissevering what does not serve, even when the curtain of anesthesia is drawn over the mind’s eye. It is surgery for the soul, severing what is toxic and sewing new wholeness in its place.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is the three-time click of red ruby shoes, taking one home to the only place that has ever been both possessed and possessive. It is the familiar essence found in the scent of Mom’s cooking, the cuddle of a little girl with her Dad, the shared songs with sisters, the late-night games with friends in the neighborhood. Breath is always a one-way ticket home.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is the circus act of a young acrobat, tinkering both above death and the fear of death, balanced on a spider-web-thread. But breath is also the safety net below, always waiting for the embarrassed stumble. The place between flying and falling, it is the quintessential exercise in balance, the embodiment of faith.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is the simple gold wedding band, not just between two people, but among a collective people, a tribe of humans indistinguishable. A circular and glorious energy of force, it links me to you and you to him and him to her and us to them. It is the unity of humankind, tactile and eternal, dismantling the idea of “other.”

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is the lock on a myriad of doors, colorful and unique, lining a hallway of infinite possibilities. But it is also the master’s key, whispering metal-codes to each door’s guardian, unlocking treasures upon treasures, hidden and now revealed, in breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is the gift a child has asked for the entire year, silver wrapping mouse-torn at the corner because of insatiable curiosity. It is the pretense of surprise, the ferocious tear of paper, the astounded gasp of a tricked child, the single tear of gratitude because the gift is not what was expected, but so much better. Always so much better.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breath is an ineffable scroll of metaphors, because breath is beyond language.

Inhale…

Exhale…