I woke into a groggy half-sleep with a pain in my chest.
Seduced by the warmth of the covers and the elusive intoxication of drowsiness, I convinced myself that the best thing to do was to stay put and do some deep breathing.
I breathed in and out, and in my sleep-stupor, I imagined breathing in all of the wonderful things in the world – flowers, sunsets, ocean breezes, babies cooing in cribs. I could see everything tremble as I breathed it in. The color surrounding everything was a cool blue. I didn’t breathe in the objects, just the essence of them, the soul of good things.
And when I breathed out it was a dirty brown swirling wind, like exhaust and in the storm I could see the talking heads of bank-rolled politicians, influencers, and scammers all laughing in slow motion against the backdrops of oil slicks, coal fires, traffic, landfills, and most of all prone figures lying this way and that, not moving at all except for their hair, lifted by the tumult. Figures the size and shape of you and me, of everyone we could ever love, have ever loved.
And I swear to you it was so real I was almost afraid to breathe in again, but thankfully when I did, it went back to blue-sky gusts on a sweet spring day.
I went on like this for several breaths — experiencing the dichotomy we’re all forced to suffer through: beauty atop pain, a thin layer of rose petals woven across a volcano.
The pain in my chest went away, but the weight of the world took its place. So many people, down for the count, so many souls not getting what they want. If you dare try to, you can feel the despair. You can feel it in your chest.
Yes, there are good things in this world. Yes, there are good people in this world.
But it seems like the bad things and the bad people are taking up all the space, even the small, sacred space in my own chest.
Jesus.
All this, and I’d barely even opened my eyes.
It takes work to stay positive, to be hopeful in the presence of fallen angels, to be the rose.
Work with me.