Breath by Breath

In response to

Slowed-Down Blackbird by Alice Oswald

Three people in the snow

getting rid of  themselves

breath by breath

and every six seconds a blackbird

three people in raincoats losing their tracks in the snow

walking as far as the edge and back again

with the trees exhausted

tapping at the sky

and every six seconds a blackbird

first three then two

passing one eye between them

and the eye is a white eraser rubbing them away

and on the edge a blackbird

trying over and over its broken line

trying over and over its broken line

The first, anxiously awaited breath taken by a new born child, commences a reassuring and regular pattern of normal, life giving, life sustaining, breathing. To those who devote time to meditation, the practiced taking in and giving out of breath helps them focus their minds on the here and now, on the moment. They become deeply aware of the physical nature of using oxygen, breath by breath. This, in turn, is a reminder of the fragility of life, of the ease with which it can be lost.

It's what we do every day. Breathe. In and out. I'm thinking about it now, so it feels forced. My body knows how to breathe on its own, but when I think about breathing, I feel I have to DO IT. In, out, conscious of the movement until I forget about it again and my lungs keep going on their own, the way they know how to.

Breath by breath, little by little, second by second. How long does it take to take a deep breath in? 2 seconds? 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, millions of breaths in a day until it stops. Over the edge. No return. Falling without a way of coming back. Down the precipice. Not over it. Tried to jump to the other side but I was weighed down by all the crap on my shoulders. Try again. Leave the rucksack on the edge here. What are you still carrying it around for anyway? Put it away. Zip it up and forget about it. Chuck it down the precipice. You don't have to follow. Just watch it being swallowed by the darkness. You belong here, where people can see you. But that lump of stuff, that's a pointless burden. Bye bye. See you never. Ok, maybe not. I'll just put it in the loft, where I can reach it when I need it. NEED? Why would you NEED it?

2, 4, 6, 8, 10. Forget about the rucksack. Breathe. Breathe. Breath by breath. Come back to me.....

Breath by breath. Moment by moment. Inching forward or standing still or receding, into the past, into the future. Breath. A breath of fresh air. Invigorating. A breath of stale air. Can be comforting. Savouring the familiar, the already known. On the inside. Are there fresh breaths? Or is each breath the same breath? Physically, muscularly, each breath can have a different quality. Sometimes I labour to breathe, heaving my body like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder, groaning under its weight. Sometimes the labour is embraced and I am the coal-man of my childhood, hoisting immensities of coal about leather aprons, aside blackened faces, and striding with assured masculinity to my cart. Kart. Go-kart. I wanted to say more about breath, about the slow breaths, the seamless breath, the being in the continuous stream. Now I want to dip into the silvery stream and be carried away to its source or conclusion. Yet the go-kart is also there. Which way to go? A crossroads. I want to turn from go-karts because they seem ordinary, so I shall embrace that resistance. I have only a few experiences of go-karting. It is exciting. It takes over me; the competitiveness is a part, but also the sheer thrill of going to the edge, sometimes starting to tip over then somehow righting myself. I know no caution, no measure, in a go-kart. It is not an effective strategy. I do not have the control or knowledge to slow down at the right places. I just love to go as fast as I can go. Pelting down the straightway, hurtling into the corners with barely a brush of brake. It is potentially lethal but I don’t think of that. I just enjoy the going for it, a sense I’ll be okay, just on the right side of dangerous. Here the breathing just comes without attention. Engrossed in the external, in the thrill of body and motion. I can be like this in my day to day life. My days of energy I thrash around, hurtle, squealing with excitement, un-willing to brake. Until I break down. Crash. Need to breathe slowly.

My thoughts this week - in fact, this whole summer – have been dominated by the illness and subsequent death of a friend.

“Breath by breath” is particularly apt as he had degenerative heart disease and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.

The last time I saw him, he struggled for breath to complete a sentence and remained uncharacteristically quiet and much of the time disengaged.

He was such a positive force in many people’s lives and really will leave a hole in our lives – not just a platitude in this case. His strong, often silent, partner of 35 years has been transformed by his death (maybe for the better) and has become a warm, emotional person who openly admits to needing the support and company of friends.

Breath by breath, we are all moving towards death. Inevitably, the long drawn out weeks of his dying and the truly magnificent funeral and celebration of his life have brought to those of us of a similar age intimations of our own mortality and plans for our own funerals – as well as thinking about what we should do with the remainder of our lives.