That thought popped into my head as I stretched into an early down dog in class this morning, sweat dripping down my nose onto my fuschia mat covered with subtle lavender lotus outlines.
Breath is glue.
When things are falling apart around me, breath holds me together. When I am surrounded by panic and pain, illness and anxiety. When life, whether my own or someone else's, is out of control. When there's not an answer, no solution in sight, when not knowing is all there is, breath keeps me calmer than I should be. Breath has done a remarkable job of vanquishing my inner drama queen.
Last night I told Jon when pressure gets too much I dread breaking down, going crazy, losing control. He told me I’m too strong for that to happen. Too grounded. That I've grown into a place where I shouldn't fear that anymore.
I have to give all the credit to my breath who has not had an easy time with me. I am often disparaging, cynical, skeptical. And yet, in spite of those negative feelings, I keep showing up on my mat, letting breath take over for a little while. The amazing thing is that yoga has seeped in and is at work in me much of the time, regardless of the fact that I’m a non-believer. I’m pretty faithless. I never bought into the “we’re all one” or “god is inside us” or “love is the answer.” I eye roll when that message gets too sappy.
And yet here I am. Knowing beyond intellectual thought that my breath saved me. That without its support, it’s evenness, it’s subtle control I’d be lost. That all those hours, weeks, months, years sweating, twisting, breathing, chanting have changed me without my knowing it.
Namaste breath. To know you is to love you.