Don't Forget To Breathe...
Sat, 2009-10-17 01:30
In the quiet of the shadows, early morning in the city as the streets sleep, the world barely notices one's passing. Quick, light footfalls and the private whisper of measured breathing are the only sounds as I run, tasting the cold, crisp air and feeling the body's warmth rise up against the chill.
I love this. It's a time of immeasurable solitude; just you and the new day, and the frosted, naked city. There is an inner silence to match the outer, nothing but the movement, the breathing, the focus on each step. It's timeless. Endless. No matter what is going on in one's life, whatever challenges and trials exist to be met and overcome, there is always this discipline of the body to return to. An anchor. An old friend. A path with no conclusion, just there - waiting for you to step out and head a little further along it.
It's a path often shared, and such times are a real pleasure and bring their own reward. But in the end it's a personal journey and there is nothing quite like the vast aloneness of such quiet passing through the world, leaving no trace and wanting for none. You expand to fill that space, awareness stretches and merges with your world, the sights, sounds, smells and feel of it. Gradually you fade into it too. And what is left is the body, the breath, the blood, the movement.
Without fail the greatest pleasures in life are the simplest. They are primordial, pure, made of what is and what you brought with you into the world, no more than that. And it's enough. Always enough. These things just are. Just life, just seeing such mornings and being able to flow through them and on into the awakening day. There's a stillness and a calmness in it, a sense of ground. The world and daily life can rage, swirl and shout as much as it wants - this silence endures, lives. Waits. For us to find it again. And when we do it passes no judgement if we have neglected it for a while.
So on I run, moving free and unnoticed, and the world is mine alone for an endless moment. This path, with its distance, its time, its terrain, feeds out behind me and disappears as soon as I have passed. Until only I am left. And then I too am gone. Lungs draw air, a heart pumps blood, muscles pulse and movement happens.
And it's enough.