It’s that space in time where I stop thinking. I’m rich with experience and ripe with opinion, but they all go silent. My wind up slows to a stop, and I inhale, paying attention only to my breath. I hear it, and I let it go. It’s a rare moment. I repeat it, knowing that chaos lives just beyond the exhale. Still, I repeat it again, hoping for a few more seconds of that space between. Only focused intention, and the simultaneous lack of it, can take me there. Yoga makes it easier, but I have not been in months. I tell myself, I’m going back soon.
I know what’s good for me. I know what cultivates peace. I know that sometimes I must wrestle havoc in order to have rest. I’m trained, raised, guided, and still I get lost. I’m given all of the opportunity and still, I trip over the threshold. I compare my life to the shining and the shunted and I wonder why I am afforded the luxury of sadness. Still, I feel it, and some days, there is no quelling it.
So that space it whispers, “Take me. Breathe me in and find me, this place where despair bleeds, and resilience breeds.” I go to this ground of quiet where I reset my soul, and think not of the how or why. I feel the nothingness, and the oneness, and know that from here compassion grows. Yet compassion, without action, leads to apathy. I revere this space between, for the fleeting moment that it is, and the indelible action that it inspires.