More about breathing

Actually, breathing through each day isn't such a bad way to operate, I guess.

After all, in all that meditation I studied a few years ago, it's all about breath: noting the breath in, noting the breath out. Focusing on the here and now. I use it often still, to calm myself, to focus, to pay attention to where I am, to get in touch with my body.

Paying attention to what is here is hard, y'know? The mind wants to go off into stuff you gotta do, where you need to be, what you gotta do, instead of just being where you are and experiencing that.

I was at the cowboy poetry readings tonight, watching the cowboys read and recite their various stories, watching the crowd react to the familiar ranch words. I'm an urban cowgirl, I guess, and I've never roped a calf nor expect to, but I've wrangled more than a few stubborn folks and animals in my time, and I think that's my story in the making....

There was a man sitting in front of me, older, with white silky hair, much like my dad's. If I squinted a little, I could see Daddy sitting there, soaking up the stories-- he loved to listen, but he also loved to perform and tell. I miss him.

So my mind wandered a bit to stories Daddy used to tell, and how much he enjoyed an audience. One of the poets read The Cremation of Sam McGee, a poem I've enjoyed for years, and one which I think Daddy read to me many years ago. So for a little while tonight, I held my father's hand while he told me stories again. Okay, I had to squint to see him. But he was there.

I think storytelling may be a way I can direct some of my passions and meet some creative needs. And we'll explore that in coming months, seeking some opportunities.

Meanwhile, I'll breathe through the day. Through the moments, one at a time, and be where I am.