The Only Constant Thing
It’s time for my breath to swallow me. Swallow me whole like a monster sitting devastatingly hungry in an isolated cave. This morning I read how breath is the only constant thing in life, and maybe that’s why every time I try to breathe, my breath pushes me to feel the charity it’s doing for me. Maybe that’s the reason my anxiety isn’t a part of me but I am a part of my anxiety. Sometimes I look around and I wonder if other people’s breath isn’t the constant part of their life. Other people’s breath doesn’t cause them any trouble. But it doesn’t work like that when we clearly know that our brain is wired to feel our sorrow in much bigger way than others.
Anyway, the only possible solution it seems sometimes is to let this obligation go away.
