Inhale. It’s day one. You’ve never taken a breath before this. It’s overwhelming. What is this invisible substance in your lungs? Is the breath happening to you? Are you breathing of your own volition? You have no way of knowing. No way of stopping. Not, at least, as an act of will.
Exhale. Whoa. What a rush. Did you feel that? All the contents of your lungs suddenly emptied. The release is beautiful. It’s a wonderful thing. The tension of the inhale grew until the exhale let it all go.
Inhale. Promise, possibility, potential. This is invigorating. Oxygen flows into your chest cavity. You fear the lungs may burst like balloons. And though you’ve never seen a balloon, this is your birthday. Your original birthday. Not the anniversary thereof.
Exhale. Just as before, the lungs didn’t pop. They didn’t explode. As the breath exits, you feel relief, peace.
You’re crying. The breaths come and go quickly. The lungs expand and collapse, rise and fall. No matter the speed, exhale follows inhale follows exhale. You will not remember your first breath. You will remember nothing before the lungs first begin their lifelong work of sustaining you. You won’t remember anything, not for years.
Years pass. Your awareness of self and others grows. The evolution is slow, but dogged. It will not be stopped. Every day you’re forming connections and making conclusions about the world. You are conscious of some. Most, however, take root on a deeper level. Stimulus affronts you in all directions at all times. You tune out much of the noise, but can never do so entirely.
You return to the breath. Comfort and safety welcome you home as you inhale, exhale. In, out. Just breathe. You’re okay. This is all you need to do. You don’t need to attempt to be alive; you already are. You’re young. The lungs are strong. You hear them whisper silently to your soul: “It’s alright. We’ve got you.” And you smile. You know they speak the truth.
Inhale. You’re older now. Experience has informed you. It has jaded. It has enlightened. Harmed at times, helped at others. You are learning who you are. You no longer simply react to outside stimuli; you form your own thoughts and respond with greater nuance. You’ve seen many things. You’ll see many more.
Exhale. You can recognize the beauty of another soul. Like you, she experienced the exhilaration of a first breath. Like you, he finds solace in the lungs’ release of oxygen. They’ve lived their entire lives apart from you. They have their own experiences and perceptions of experiences. Some you have shared, others are theirs alone: private thoughts and feelings. Maybe she lets you in on the secret. Maybe he shares what it means to be in his skin. And maybe they don’t.
Time passes. You observe others, most, but not all, older than you. They inhale, exhale, and nothing follows. The lungs have given everything and there’s nothing left, nothing more, to give. Just as exhalation does not precede first breaths, so, too, are last breaths not followed by inhalation. You stand upon an expansive disc. This disc is the circle of time. Prior, you understood the disc has an edge, but now you can see that edge, where you couldn’t before. It’s out there, on the periphery. It will only draw closer from here.
Inhale. While you still can, you relish the breath. You cling to what is left of youth. You breathe deep, feeling the fullness of the expanding lungs. You become ever more acutely in tune with a simple concept, a terrifyingly straightforward idea. You recall the words of a song from your younger days: “Breathing comes in pairs,” says the lyricist, “except for twice. One begins and one’s goodbye.”
Exhale. One day, this will not be followed by another breath. Just as your forebears, so, too, will you meet your end. The lungs have a quota. They will reach that quota. And they will go no further. Each day you live brings you a more intimate understanding of this.
Inhale. While you may. Because tension adds relief to release, because whether it frightens or excites you, you are compelled to partake of this cycle, its unknowable duration both a curse and a blessing.
Exhale. As you must. Because release is not an evil, because eternity is far too complex a thing for the lungs. Finality is, likewise, both a blessing and a curse.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Just breathe. You’re okay.
Listen as the lungs whisper their love song. Feel into the terminally infinite refrain.
Inhale.
Exhale.
This, and nothing else, is all you have to do. And you’re doing it. Or is it doing you? It doesn’t matter. It is being done, regardless.
Inhale.
Exhale.
In.
Out.
Repeat and repeat until, finally, you breath in one last time, and out into forever.
Inhale, as all before you have and as all after will.
Exhale...and rest.