Right Now

Right Now

When breath becomes air it 

means you are dead.

So how do I stay in my body 

right here and right now?

With my breath.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, or 

maybe yogic

but this involuntary function

controlled by the 

medulla oblongata

is out of my control.

I’ve held my breath, nearly 

bursting my lungs as I trained 

myself to swim 

underwater.

Fifty yards. 

Holding it feels a lot like 

controlling it, but I know

that when I surfaced

I gasped.  It wasn’t up to me,

because it was still breath then,

not air.

When my breath becomes air

I hope I’m not scared. I hope

I let it go out like a whisper,

trusting that there’s something

more than breathing.

But that time is not right now.

For now, I put my hand on my

belly,

my soft, animal belly,

and inhale until I’m full.

“I’m still here,” I remind myself.

“I’m still here.”

-Laurie Benson©