Have you ever noticed what happens in your body when something feels difficult?
Maybe it's an awkward conversation or a bill that you weren't expecting.
Maybe it's just a worrying thought that shows up out of nowhere.
Before we even realize it,
Something inside starts to tighten.
Maybe our shoulders lift,
Our jaw gets tense.
Our breathing gets shallow.
And the whole body prepares for battles that may never come.
We don't choose this,
It happens fast and it's all quite natural,
Isn't it?
Our minds react.
And so do our bodies,
To tension.
And then something more happens.
We begin resisting the tension itself.
We might say to ourselves,
I shouldn't be feeling this.
I need to relax.
I have to make it go away.
Or I want this to go away.
Suffering doesn't only come from pain.
It comes from how hard we push against what we're already experiencing.
The tension is one thing.
And our resistance to it is another thing entirely.
I was thinking about this while listening to the birds the other day.
I love how they share their song.
It isn't a performance and it isn't something they're trying to achieve.
It's simply a natural expression of being alive.
Crows are different.
When they sense danger nearby,
Their sound changes.
They seemed to send out a warning.
That says,
Pay attention.
Even in nature,
There is tension.
There's alertness and there's the wisdom of responding to what is here.
In a way,
The crows remind us of our place in the world.
Danger appears and our senses sound the warning.
The body speaks first.
Often before we have words for it.
And there's also a flow.
Plants and trees receive light and water and nourishment from the soil.
And then they give.
They give shade and oxygen,
Fruit and shelter and beauty.
And when their life cycle is complete,
They return to the earth.
Even in dying they give themselves back,
Their bodies becoming nourishment for new plants,
For insects and animals,
And for the living soil beneath them.
Nothing is wasted.
Nothing is separate.
Life receives,
Life gives,
Life releases,
And life continues.
I wonder if our breathing is meant to teach us something similar.
We receive the breath.
And we let it go.
Again and again.
Receiving and releasing.
Maybe tension grows a little stronger when we stop that flow.
When we grip too tightly or brace against whatever's moving through us.
The breath invites us back into rhythm.
Not to force the tension to go away,
Not to fix ourselves or our experiences.
Just to make space for what's already here.
A little room,
A little more kindness,
A little more trust in the body's natural way of returning.
If you'd like,
Let's just spend a few minutes and practice a conscious breath together.
Take a slow breath in.
And let yourself receive it.
And at the top of the breath,
Pause just a little bit.
No strain.
You're simply resting there for a moment.
And then exhale slowly all the way and release your breath.
Let the exhale be longer than the inhale.
Again,
Breathing in,
Receiving.
And at the top,
Hold it lightly.
Then exhale completely,
Releasing.
One more time,
This time breathe in through your nose.
Pause at the top.
And let it go all the way out through your mouth.
When we do this,
Maybe tension doesn't disappear altogether.
It doesn't have to.
But perhaps there's a little more space around it now.
On top of that,
Consciously practicing the breath is a practice in awareness.
The birds sing,
The crows call out,
The trees receive and give and return.
And we too are a part of this living rhythm.
Breathing in.
.
.
And letting go.
