"We might as well say we are organs of the world." David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous
A deep breath--inhale, exhale--tension leaving my muscles, the lines in my face, more relaxed, the heart muscle less constrained. Lungs of the Canyons. Cottonwood trees and willows--aspiring into the air--river water moving up through their roots to the capillaries in their stems and branches, into the leaves, the river transformed into the air we breathe as the cottonwoods exhale their silent breath, rustling the leaves as breath meets the air warmed by the canyon walls.
Yesterday, Cheryl and I touched the leaves of a cottonwood elder growing less than a hundred feet from the river shore. The leaves were cool, the blue sky heated by the midday sun. We touched the leaves to our cheeks and I thought of the cool breath of the cottonwood, river molecules transformed. This breathing--the breath of Nature--the world breathing itself through trees and rivers and ravens and snakes. Through catfish and whip-tailed lizards and willows and canyon wrens. The world breathing itself through river women and river songs and flute music and laughter and letting go.
Inhale. Exhale. Deep breaths allowing the world to give birth to itself all over again. All over again, and again, and again. It is a good day to breathe. A good day to give back. Mahalo. Wado. Thank you.