Three years ago, I lost my breath. Not in a heady-first-kiss or gripping-Splash-Mountain kind of way. I lost it on an ordinary day. In my home while sorting out lunchboxes and finding ever-errant socks, looking at the clock, counting down minutes until school. I found I couldn't breathe. My heart began to thump against my chest, demanding attention, harder and faster, until I could no longer ignore it. In that moment in my bedroom, I thought I might die. My husband closed the door and sat by me, clocking my heart rate for a minute. Our eyes met at the end of the minute, terrified at my rabbit-like heart. I had to stop.
My life had exploded on every front months before and fear and anxiety became new companions. My anxiety stopped me. My fear stole my breath. I found myself stealing out of events, of life. Few people knew about my anxiety, but I began to panic in everyday situations. My stomach twisting in fear, my chest constricting in stress. Tasks such as meeting new people or being in closed spaces became difficult and sometimes impossible. I whittled down stress and relied on whole foods, essential oils and herbs. All these things were helpful, but nothing really alleviated the anxiety. I knew I did not want to live the rest of my life looking for ways to live on the edges.
I even tried a regular yoga class and when those big barn doors slide shut to start the class I spent the next hour trying not to have a panic attack. Ironically I was there paying to feel calm and felt like I might flee or explode at any minute. During that excruciating hour, the teacher asked us several times to breathe from our belly. I couldn't. I stood there, tall on my green yoga mat, my hand on my stomach and could not force my stomach to expand with my breath. At the end of the class, I casually bolted for the door. I laced up my shoes, ready to flee again, when I saw my teacher there. Before I left, I confided that I couldn’t breathe, like she had shown.
She looked at me and said, "That is great."
I looked back at her, confused.
She smiled, "Now is a chance for you to find your breath."
I may have thought she was slightly crazy, but very deep, and left with my yoga mat slung over my shoulder, never to return.
And so, I began to search for my breath. Within weeks I was led to a beginning Kundalini Meditation class. The first class focused on the breath. I remember lying down on my bed, my hands across my chest and belly, trying to find it. To figure out this thing that should be innate, but wasn’t. My muscles were weak and I had to train myself to breathe. I committed to forty days of Kirtan Kriya (a meditation set) and breath-work, or pranayams. I finished the forty days and continued, practicing meditation, pranayams and yoga.
But I didn’t just use the breath in my daily meditation or weekly yoga class. It was something that needed to be practiced and strengthened daily until I learned to transfer it to my everyday life. I didn’t live in a yoga studio (thankfully!) or a yogi cave, I needed this breath to live the beautiful life I was given, but was at times overwhelmed by and scared of.
I could recognize the signs of my anxiety and taught myself to sit down and find my breath in that moment. Often, that was all I needed. I became more and more brave, and faith and confidence began replacing fear. I would use the pranayams in the car if I was driving to a stressful situation. I could rely on my breath to see me through simple things, like meeting new people, things that had become difficult for me and it sustained me.
I continued my daily meditation practice, because it felt good and I knew I was more in tune and clear because of it. I rarely had any significant experiences during the actual meditations, but I found I didn’t want to go long without practicing.
At the close of the year, almost one year after practicing meditation, our family received news that my husband’s youngest brother had passed away unexpectedly. It was devastating and heart wrenching. The week following the news, I didn’t have time to meditate, as we made funeral and travel arrangements and accepted meals from neighbors as we greived. But, I felt complete peace that all the daily time I had spent meditating throughout the year was a reservoir that I could now draw on. I was immensely grateful that I had spent the time daily to build my breath and strengthen my nervous system, and that I had practiced being brave. I know that physically, mentally and spiritually I would not have handled this tragedy the same way I would have without meditation. Even the simple logistics of the funeral and being with so many people and saying the prayer at the services would have been too much for me when I had struggled with anxiety. The resilience I was able to draw on was a priceless gift.
Weeks after his death, I began to sink. I knew then my well was depleted and I needed to refill it, but the thought of simply touching my fingers together for Kirtan Kriya sounded too hard, too tiring, too heavy. A few times I sat on my mat and that was all I could do. Finally, one day I took one of Felice’s yoga classes and I came away feeling renewed, grounded, and balanced. I knew I could begin my daily sadhana again.
I began a forty day sadhana again, with the mantra (Ra Ma Da Sa). I hoped that where meditation has sustained me through anxiety it would now sustain me through loss and heal me. I had said the simple phrase, “Sa Ta Na Ma” hundreds of times over the past year. So, I began again that day, touching my fingers together for each sound, Sa (Birth), Ta (Life), and then Na (Death).
Death. I paused there. Suddenly this had new meaning. It hurt. Tears accompanied the sound "na" and when my voice could no longer hold it, my mind did. That space between beats of the mantra, became sacred and heavy with experience. I had not experienced death in such a close, personal way before. Now I had. I felt paralyzed there. . . at death. I stayed, for the space of many beats. I let myself feel the emptiness and sadness, my fingers pressing against each other, holding all that emotion. Finally, I put my thumb and pinky together and moved to the next sound.
Ma.
Rebirth.
Rebirth always follows death. How could I have forgotten? I cried anew, but the tears felt cleansing, full of hope. Rebirth. Rebirth. The tears would water the ground for new birth. Our brother would have a birth into his next life. We would have our own rebirths here on earth, as we grew, our skin no longer able to hold the new selves that were emerging. I shed tears and I shed skin. My new self was larger and could no longer be held in my old skin. I was larger with experience, with compassion, and with testimony.
I had a greater, more sure testimony of a rebirth, the rebirth, of Christ, who made all our rebirths possible. That rebirth that would come after our ultimate death and those deaths that came daily, as our old selves die, making room for our expanded new selves. What a gift to be reborn in Him. It was not a cycle to be afraid of, but one to rejoice in.
At the beginning of the year, before I began to practice Kundalini Yoga, I had written down that I wanted a strong body, beautiful posture, a calm stomach, and big muscles. I wanted a calm mind, the ability to see myself more clearly and the desire to align myself with God's will. I tucked those goals away for months, and when I found them later, scribbled in a notebook, I was thrilled that I was becoming, daily, the woman I wanted to be. Really the woman I already was. I remembered her.
The remembering was a challenge and came in glimpses and whispers. Many days I didn’t receive either, but, I showed up again and again on my mat. On some days the remembering came, impressions of myself. Although they were brief, they were enough to sustain me and I wrote them down in my meditation journal. Once, I saw myself, and my entire body was made of radiating light. My skin fell down around me in gray lifeless layers. In this moment, I was unafraid. This was the person I had been before being birthed into this world, the person I still was, in my core. I needed to shed that skin that separated me from that. Daily. To have the scales shed from my eyes so I could see the Divine disguised in the daily. To see myself, and to catch those glimpses and the whispers.
Recently, I felt my abs and was surprised to find muscle there.
I showed off to my mom, "Feel these!"
"What have you been doing?" she asked, impressed.
"Breathing," I answered.
I learned to breathe and that had made me strong. I found my breath, just as the teacher predicted. Breath gave me life again, the living part of life. Sadly my anxiety stole a lot of that from me. It made me scared to participate in life. Like the yoga teacher predicted, it was great to find my breath. I learned to strengthen it, and I found that it held me, even when confronted with death, and I saw how I used it in my own rebirth, daily. I could feel my muscles becoming stronger, I knew my breath was longer, and although more difficult to measure I knew revelation came easier. I had increased courage, faith, and had seen more miracles to assure me of the beauty of the Ta or living part of life.
Brook, this is beautifully written. I am very impressed at how you have so courageously dealt with this disorder. I have wondered, over the past few weeks, how meditation and breathing might help me dispel tension and stress accumulated over two years of Nadine's disintegration. And of course, the deep sadness and sense of loss that accompanies the death of one loved so deeply. It sounds like you have mastered it. Perhaps you could share the secret. Thx
Posted by: David Malpas | August 21, 2014 at 05:31 PM
Beautiful, bold, powerful, inspiring, hopeful and edifying. Thank you for sharing!! I am so grateful to be reminded of the Saviors love and mission.
Posted by: Sarah Jones | August 21, 2014 at 09:04 PM
Oh Brook, so beautiful. Thank you. Thank you for giving life to so many around you. This is beautiful.
Posted by: Brooke | August 21, 2014 at 09:51 PM
I continue to be so impressed by you. I was just thinking how I've been sad that I "wasted" the time I had in Utah and the opportunities I had to connect with you but I also have to remember that even though I didn't meet with you as often as I would have liked, I would not know you at all had I not gone to Utah. And that is a big blessing in deed! :) xo
Posted by: Chablis | August 22, 2014 at 11:23 AM
i'm so happy we met! i'm sure you will be back to visit and we can get together!
Posted by: b | August 22, 2014 at 04:32 PM
I'm just now reading this entry months after you wrote it. So happy this found me late rather than never. Tears as I write. For decades now you have inspired me. I love you so much. Thank you for helping me remember to find my breath of life. Again and again. Every day.
Posted by: cari | December 16, 2014 at 03:22 PM