The police officer crushed George Floyd's neck with his knee. "I can't breathe," Mr. Floyd agonizingly begged. A black man died, breath taken from him by a white police officer. The juxtaposition is starling and shameful. The universe breathes, the earth breathes, all living things breathe. Breath is so fundamental that we take it for granted until we are in danger of losing it. All breath is sacred.
Three weeks ago I developed a sore throat. It developed quickly into something worse and I could feel my throat closing. Breathing became difficult. A trip to my doctor followed by an emergency appointment with the "Ear, Nose and Throat" specialist diagnosed a rather nasty peritonsillar abscess. A somewhat painful procedure followed. But I could breath freely again. Facing the loss of breath I have become more appreciative than ever of the simple moment by moment, life sustaining simplicity of breathing. I cannot imagine the physical, mental and emotional torment George Floyd felt during his nine minute execution when his breath was cruelly stolen. When I had breathing difficulty I had a way of escape into the skillful care of medical professionals. Not so George Floyd. All breath is sacred.
The TV coverage cuts from a black man's agonizing death to a commercial urging us to buy more stuff. A prime time execution sandwiched between lawn products and allergy pills demonstrates yet again the banality of evil. Where white is good and black is bad, black lives matter less. A black man's breath was ripped away. The sacred was desecrated.
A black man's breath is sacred.
+Ab. Andy