Sustained by breath on Pentecost

A difficult week. End of semester busyness. Ongoing, unresolved, and stressful possibilities. Then midweek, the death of my mother.

I have thought for some time that a life well-lived is when our personal ecosystem is in balance. That is, the physical, social, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual aspects of life work together in a meaningful synchroncity.
The earthquake of death shakes the system violently. The ecosystem faces disarray. Exhaustion, sleeplessness, strained relationships, sadness, anger, fear, thoughts within thoughts, tumbling together like a rolling hamster-ball of perceptions.
On Sunday morning time to breathe. It's Pentecost Sunday morning. The coming of spirit, of life, of breath into the dry bones of humanity. How fitting!
I shall not speak of my mum—the loss is too raw, the memories too precious, the feelings too untrustworthy. But I shall breathe—one life-sustaining breath after another. And that surely is the meaning of Pentecost. "Breath upon these slain," prophesied Ezekiel. And breath came into them, and they lived.
Breath is the essence of spirituality. Yet, to say so is tautological, for breath is essence is spirit.
And life is sustained by breath. How odd that too often religion becomes a matter of doctrines to believe, and procedures to follow,  relegating spirit to the margins of mysticism.
Spirituality is the inner resource, the Christ within, the Buddha nature, the Dao—closer to breath than ideas.
So, on this Sunday of Spirit, I shall breathe. I shall return to the center. I shall honor the process of grief. I shall respect the nature of change and decay. I shall flow with the cycle of life and death and life.

Be kind to yourself today,

+Ab. Andy