Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.
If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined...
Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air, is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.
Everything you do right now ripples outward and affects everyone. Your posture can shine your heart or transmit anxiety. Your breath can radiate love or muddy the room in depression. Your glance can awaken joy. Your words can inspire freedom. Your every act can open hearts and minds.
How do you identify someone who needs encouragement? That person is breathing.
We're always one breath away from something, living or dying, sometimes it just can't be helped.
We call it 3HO, an organization of healthy, happy, and holy people. It has no membership charge, no presidents, and at this point not even a secretary. Anybody can be a member who will promise that he shall undertake to practice these exercises, and to practice to breathe consciously. Be aware that the breath is the divine charge and it is a gift of the God.
Look at your feet. You are standing in the sky. When we think of the sky, we tend to look up, but the sky actually begins at the earth. We walk through it, yell into it, rake leaves, wash the dog, and drive cars in it. We breathe it deep within us. With every breath, we inhale millions of molecules of sky, heat them briefly, and then exhale them back into the world.
I was usually filled with a sense of something like shame until I'd remember that wonderful line of Blake's- that we are here to learn to endure the beams of love- and I would take a long deep breath and force these words out of my strangulated throat: "Thank you.
So small as to be negligible. It's strange, but there's something in that thought that makes me feel almost...free.
That our world is so massive that it is completely out of our control, that we cannot possibly be as large as we feel.
I have one final hope, If I get double sixes, maybe he will change his mind, come back to me. As if to cast a magic spell, I blow on the dice just as Dex did...Just as it happened with our first roll, one die lands before its mate. On a six! I hold my breath. For a brief second, I see a mess of dots, and think I have boxcars again. I kneel, staring at the second die. It is onle a five. I have rolled an eleven, It is as if someone is mocking me, saying, Close, but no dice.
Do what ya have to do to pay off yer debt with Heaven,’ he said, his concern for proper speech abandoned. ‘But ya do not die on me, ya understand? I can’t live without ya. Yer all I got, woman.’ Her breath caught in her lungs. ‘I don’t want to be here if you’re not.
Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
we can't afford to do anyone harm because we owe them our lives each breath is recycled from someone else's lungs our enemies are the very air in disguise you can talk a great philosophy but if you can't be kind to people every day it doesn't mean that much to me it's the little things you do the little things you say it's the love you give along the way
Each breath we take, each step we make, each smile we realize, is a positive contribution to peace... a necessary step in the direction of peace for the world.
Actually, cats do this to protect you from gnomes who come and steal your breath while you sleep.
Poetry's medium is not merely light as air, it is air: vital and deep as ordinary breath.
One day you will kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.
What frightens you? What makes the hair on your arms rise, your palms sweat, the breath catch in your chest like a wild thing caged? Is it the dark? A fleeting memory of a bedtime story, ghosts and goblins and witches hiding in the shadows? Is it the way the wind picks up just before a storm, the hint of wet in the air that makes you want to scurry home to the safety of your fire? Or is it something deeper, something much more frightening, a monster deep inside that you've glimpsed only in pieces, the vast unknown of your own soul where secrets gather with a terrible power, the dark inside?
The direction of a big act will warp history, but probably all acts do the same in their degree, down to a stone stepped over in the path or the breath caught at sight of a pretty girl or a fingernail nicked in the garden soil.
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