Even with darkness sealing us in,
we breathe your name.
- Michael Dennis Browne
Remember to breathe. Take time to breathe. Just breathe.
We use these phrases often. Or at least, I do.
Even just yesterday, while coffee-ing with a student, she spelled out her weekly schedule for me, and I interrupted to ask, "do you ever take time to breathe?" It is a question I find myself frequently asking of my students and colleagues alike. In a world that glorifies busyness, it is easy to find ourselves feeling guilty for pausing, for choosing to measure our worth by something besides our productivity.
But, as I pause, and sip wine and stare at the stars and contemplate how I might incorporate more "breathing time" into my own schedule, I suddenly realize how silly that sounds. Why do we have to set aside specific time for an involuntary action that we do an average of every 5 seconds?
What we mean, of course, is that we must set aside specific time to make the conscious choice to be aware of, involved in our breath. Busyness does not come without a price. It dulls our awareness - of the world around us, of other people, of glimmers of beauty, of even the inner workings of these bodies our souls call home. To be unaware of these things is to be unreceptive to the gifts of the present. In allowing busyness to steal our awareness, our mindfulness, our openness to receive....we then also relinquish most of our opportunities to be grateful.
I'll be the first to say that I'm guilty of holding my breath, of forgetting to inhale the gifts of the world around me, of failing to exhale the negativity and anxiety that plagues me. So often, I have blazed ahead, unaware of the tension that creeps ever-so-slowly into my shoulders, of the knots silently swirling in my back.
I have developed a habit over the years of learning new pieces of music with the aid of a metronome. My goal-oriented self loves the sense of achievement I feel each day as I increase the speed by a few clicks. I love to see progress, however slow or minute it may be. I love to trace the journey of where I've been and celebrate the small daily victories.
Obviously, the goal here is more than just self-gratification. This slow, methodical, seemingly-tedious practice enables my muscles to learn the necessary patterns without allowing the tension to sneak in. When the tempo is slow, I have space to be mindful of what I am doing, time to be aware of my breathing. The slow, steady tick holds me accountable to not go any faster than my breath.
Of course, I cannot stay married to the metronome forever. At some point, I will need to turn it off. Metronomes can teach us how to remain steady - they can hold us accountable to resist the urge to rush ahead or drag behind. But they cannot teach us to phrase, to dance. They cannot teach us about the space between the notes. They cannot teach us the importance of the silence. They cannot teach us to make music.
We are made for rhythm. I believe this with every fiber of my being. There is a place where the beat meets the groove - a tempo that is right - one that moves forward with purpose while still remaining relaxed and grounded. But the rhythm cannot live until we turn the metronome off. The rhythm cannot learn to dance unless it is broken.
So today I break my rhythm.
The weekdays are for metronomes. For incremental progress. For learning the patterns. For faithfulness in the slow and steady work. For attempting to not go any faster than my breath.
But the Sabbath.
The Sabbath is for silence. For recalibration. For release. For remembering. For listening. For gratitude.
Today I break my rhythm.
And in doing so, I find it.
To live is to breathe.
To breathe is to live.
