When I listen,

I can hear my heart beating against my chest.

The thumps echo loudly like a mountain effect,

but reverberations are in a space compressed

by my damaged heart and a life stressed

by disappointment, woes, and sundry tests.

When I listen,

I can hear myself breathe. I inhale

air that does not equal my exhale

because my lungs are now curtailed

like a leashed dog that no longer prevails

over a life full of pitfalls and travails.

When I really listen,

I can tell that my heartbeat is a shadow

and my breathing is way more shallow

compared to my youth when I had no

restrictions. But my life is not fallow,

because hope is my life’s ammo.

And when you're

barely breathing

dressed in starlight

are you... still grateful

for this life,

this Life

the life you're

wearing out

side in

the one

that lets you

make-

believe

and take the good

and the bad in

and leaven it,

into a person

floating, in space

between the almost

dead and risen?

12.19.2024

Listen... challenge @dctezcan

Listen...

--do you hear it?

Calling,

in sympathy,

a cacophony of breaths?

breath on breath on breath on breath

Sweet as fennel, living death

one pulls from the air,

what another has left

And we all share.

ain't it something—the way we parse our lungs into polite portions, like

granma's teacups lined up all pristine & proper on Sunday?

such

tiny

sips

of

sky

the body knows better. knows how to gulp-swallow-devour the world when we let it. when we don't cage it in business-casual breaths & conference-room dreams & fluorescent-lit desires.

see: the newborn's first raw scream

the lover's ragged gasp

the runner's victorious heave

the swimmer's desperate surface-break

& here we are, making do with these careful little breaths. these timid

micro-doses of existence. like we're afraid the universe might notice us

taking more than our share.

but listen,

the stars didn't explode into being

just so we could

inhale

in

mea

sured

doses

remember: every cell in your body descends from creatures who knew how to BREATHE, really breathe, who pulled oxygen from ancient seas & figured out how to scale mountains & sprint across savannas & sing whale-songs through ocean depths.

you are their wild inheritance.

so go ahead:

breathe like you mean it.

breathe like you're stealing fire from gods.

breathe like you remember what your atoms were

before they learned to play human.

because this thing you're doing now?

this shallow-chest half-life ventilation?

it's not breathing.

it's not living.

it's just

rehearsing

for

the

stillness.

Listlessly lying on the white topped bed,

Intensely focused on the slightly crooked tile on my glorified cage's ceiling.

Safely balancing on the line between boredom and survival.

Trying not to think about days back then,

Entertainment taken for granted, and

Normal was a characteristic of a person.

The living

do not know

that they are

breathing...

it's when

we run

& hide

we become

aware...

of that rattle

that intrigues

from infancy

inside...

2024 DEC 20

Beautiful sparks of red against a black mask chirped.

Head twisted, half cocked, then turned again.

"Chirp."

I heard it flutter away, the shy little bird like a red arrow against the white fray as I watched plumes of air echo off my aching throat before the cold reached back in and stole my breath away.

I picked up my hands, staring at purpling and pinking finger tips to brush the snow away from the top of the porch.

Here.

Here was life.

Life as I knew it.

Know it.

Beauty in all the things high and low,

if only I was it.

Nature, so lovely, she'd steal your breath away.

Take it away, and breathe life into another day.

Oh, what is my life, but a soft borrowed breath aching against borrowed time.

For this is me, this is my 'life.'

As temporary as it may be.

Your emergence into this world begins with your first inhalation. Your transition out of this world begins after your final exhalation. Although the circumstances vary, both moments are inevitable and common denominators for everyone. A little or a lot, if you are drawing air into your lungs, removing the oxygen component and releasing the byproduct, then you’re living. Breathing is a fundamental and imperative basis for each person’s existence.

So, the standard by which we measure the caliber of our life shouldn’t be how deep a breath we take. A purpose-driven life comes from how we utilize our talents during and between respirations. Success, and failure, is what gives value to time. Having value to time is indicative of leading a quality life. Looking back on where we were in relation to where we are will prove if our lives are meaningful.

A breath’s intensity doesn’t matter. The toddler’s small puff of air is sufficient for blowing out two birthday candles. That’s enough to give her a sense of pride while bringing joy to those sitting around the table applauding the feat. Whispering “I love you and will see you again someday,” to an unresponsive spouse in hospice care delivers both a reminder and a promise that exemplifies the commitment to a decades-long union. The cancer patient in remission belts out, with full, forceful exhalation, Auld Lang Syne as a defiant proclamation of victory. Screaming at the top of your lungs, “I deserve better,” is a cathartic empowerment. All these impactful moments were made possible using differing volumes of air.

Whether dealing with COPD or training for an Olympic marathon, an individual can make a difference in the world. Rejoice in whatever amount of air you’re breathing. If it yields positive results, your life is full.

Tell the mourners there is no time left for weeping.

The time for sadness has passed.

At least that's what I feel like telling the world. I'm not much for weeping. Some say its cathartic, I say it slows you down.

From what you might ask?

From life.

We don't need to know the promises the world has in store for us, because, and this might shock you, but the world hasn't promised you shit.

We are all mourners of our own lives- especially if we don't live them.

So I amend my original statement.

Do not weep unless you haven't lived, haven't known failure as intimately as a lover, haven't lost yourself only to find yourself again, haven't loved loudly with no words.

That is the real reason to cry. Then I give you permission to wail.

Because what is the point of having a life if you never lived in the first place?

As I walked across a desert of uncertain sands.

I felt a warm breeze and something held my hands.

I was gripped with force yet subtle to breathe.

I was chosen by someone to

Teach and lead.

As my walk turned to gliding on a mystical summer Eve.

The pain I felt left me as I

Dropped to one knee.

My arms flew in the air and my

Head swung back.

My eyes was seeing clouds

With stars in the cracks.

In my mind I'm thinking ...people Must see me this way.

But in my soul I was feeling

...I don't care what they say.

Suddenly sound floats from lips

In shallow.

I said " God thank you for today and guide me through tomorrow."

All went silent and the world was mine.

It was my time to show that his glory was divine.

As I talked aloud more people came about.

My shallow voice became a humble shout.

The position I was in attracted a crowd.

Was I making sense or was I just loud?

Several other words left from my lips.

Then all of a sudden...something raised me by the hips.

Stood me up and stood me tall.

I said what I needed to say,

They heard my call.

I felt relieved,

somehow unhinged from stress.

I prayed to my God,

He made me confess.

To release the pain and suffering that caused me to walk.

Turn into a confession that

Caused me to talk.

Once my words began to spread,

My meaning was heard.

I knew I was guided to teach

His heavenly word.

From that day on,

I voice my pain.

Never to hold it inside me again.

Amen