breathe

I lay here wanting to pause this moment for I know it is a fleeting one.  She's just finished reading herself a book. A wonderful variation on Cinderella, starring the grand duke, who is called the grand duke because he is grand and he dukes people. 

She's tired now and straightens her pillows and blanket falling into bed.  Feeling particularly snuggly, she asks me to scratch her back - inside Mommy.  Okay, I say.  For a little while.  

Soon, she pulls my arm away, gently, and puts her hand in mine.  With her other hand she searches for any spot of bare skin in all of my clothed layers.  Her fingers find their destination and set softly on my chest.  Skin-to-skin, hand-in-hand we lay and she breathes.  Her breath is a beautiful and natural one, her belly lifting as a child's is wont to do.  

It is this breath that makes children different from us, you know.  Adults tend to breathe from their chest bringing in tension and anxiety and blocking air from getting deep into our selves.  Children are magically better at remaining calm and I believe their breathing makes them this way.

I closed my eyes and listened to her breathe, stuffy nose, rattle, and the hum of air going in and out of her little body.  And I thought of all that the breath can do:

Breathing in, I give thanks for all that I have in life.
Breathing out, I let go of tension and frustration.

Breathing in, I allow in calm and rootedness.
Breathing out, I acknowledge the cycles of unrest and rest that fill my mind.

Breathing in, I honor those cycles and know they just are.
Breathing out, I let go of the desire to figure it all out.

Breathing in, I savor this space with my youngest child.
Breathing out, I imagine our lives and bodies connected as one.

Breathing in, I give thanks.
Breathing out, I wish joy and happiness and peace to all living beings.

Because that it all I know to do in this amazing moment.