It is one of the first things I notice in this magical place by the sea. Inland, caught up in the busy-ness of the city, I have forgotten to breathe. Forgotten to simply be present to my breath moving in and out of my body.

I feel the tightness in my chest. Feel the constrictions against my heart.

I don’t remember when, or how, or why or where I forgot to breathe. I just feel it. The knowledge appears and I feel its truth.

I have forgotten to breathe.

And I begin again.

Always begin again.

It is, as Mark Nepo tells the 40 people gathered in a circle beneath the giant peaked dome of the Festival Hall at The Haven — we move in and out of being present, of being awake.

I take a breath and move into wakefulness.

Perhaps it is this place by the sea. This place where land falls into water and the water rushes up to meet the sky. Where sea otters play along the shore and seagulls caw and swoop down and in and out. Perhaps it is the lush green forest of Arbutus and Pine. Or the lumbering hulk of the ferry passing by every hour, its wake moving out behind it, rippling into shore long after it has sailed from view.

Perhaps it is that in this place, city worries fade into the cacophony of background noises that no longer fill the space between being awake and sleeping. In this place all becomes become part of being awakened to no longer sleeping.

Whatever the reason, in this space I am awakened once again to the ebb and flow of life constantly calling me to be aware, to step with eyes wide open and arms reaching out. Reaching out to hold on and to let go, to let be what is without fearing it will always be, or never be, again and again.

And I begin, again.
Always begin again.

Begin to tell the story, Mark invites us.

Begin to tell the story.

We must begin.

for the story is never completely written, never completely finished even when we are gone. For this story of our life is connected to the universal story of life.

We come into this world to celebrate this most precious gift of being human.

we come into this world to know the sacredness of our life, of each life and in that sacred nature of our being human, we come to know I am is all I need to be.

In a one on one exercise with another woman yesterday, she shared something she’s learned on her journey, “There is nothing I can do here that will destroy the divine nature of my being.”

And I felt my heart break open. I felt the breath rush from my body and then back in like waves crashing endlessly against the shore washing away memory of what came before the wave breaking against the shore.

“There is nothing I can do here that will destroy the divine nature of my being.”

There is nothing I can do that will destroy the divine nature of life.

And there is much that we can and do, to destroy life.

It is time to begin again. To stop destroying life and to start celebrating it.

Collectively, there is much we can do to celebrate, to cherish, to nurture life. There is much we can do to create space for life to dance beneath the sun and moon and stars.

There is much we can do.

And always, when we find ourselves holding our breath, we must begin again to breathe life into every moment.

Namaste.