breathlessness

There are moments in life when tension grips my lungs, eyes widen, limbs quiver. my bodily self reacts to a stimulus. my senses are heightened. my heartbeat quickens. I am breathless.

The sight of a rainbow dodging a soft Irish rainfall. The herculean pressure of a towering cathedral. The sleep-induced shadows and ghostly glimpses of the midnight hour. The touch of my beloved’s hand. The kiss of her lips. The hold of her gaze. breathlessness.

This movement of the body touches the heart. It’s a place where carnality and spirituality exchange currencies; a gentleman’s agreement. The veil is lifted. The thin place revealed. my heart skips. The feelings pass as the clouds roll, the lights flicker on, her hand moves quietly to her own lap, her gaze returns to the pages of her book.

But don’t we long for breathlessness - for the feeling of dying slowly? A pleasurable pain; the flames of a fire that purify us and remind us that we are human; an invitation to experience our naked selves. Our desires are made manifest; our needs are revealed. We are exposed.

Breathlessness.

It reminds us that we are mortal. Without breath our bodies would die, but without moments of breathlessness our spirits dry up like the morning dew.

Breathlessness reminds us that we are alive - equally alive with the object of our desire. It is a pause that joins all things. As the oil painting forever captures a moment in time; these moments captivate us and capture us too. Arrested, our passions betray us to the jail rooms of Mother Nature, of the Boogey Man, of God, of the lover of our very selves.

“When you breathe I recall the power of trains” she wrote.

I feel it too. There is power in the breath that raises her chest as she falls asleep beside me. There is fear in my heart, mixed with awe. I breathe that same air I breathe her in and
out until I too am asleep.