[Editor’s Note: This Community Voices piece is a poem by Angie Funtanilla.]
I discovered my breath, within the final mile. The place had it been? Had it been hiding?
I discovered my breath; it got here out all of a sudden just like the solar bursting by cussed clouds that attempted to maintain it at bay, however the solar was extra cussed and protracted. It was sturdy and affected person, not coercive or manipulative, however trustworthy and trusting it could shine the place and when it was wanted.
Perhaps that’s the place my breath was — tucked behind a nook, the within of my sleeve, the underside of my beanie — ready patiently to exert itself into full airspace. It was the quiet visitor, the unassuming star who needed to wait behind the scenes — look ahead to the appropriate second to step out into full mild and presence, and now the stage is about and the principle attraction has arrived.
The baton is up, the hand lifts, and the ultimate act is about to start.
Right here we go on this ultimate stretch the place breath meets bone and stone below toes that float and flutter, go pitter-patter, rat-a-tat-tat on the asphalt of this lined Earth. One carry after which one other the place muscle tissue are in demand and vitality of breath of oxygen, this most important ingredient to push and pull, to achieve another step, another inch, pull it out, all of the stops, for this second in time, the prospect to bop as soon as once more for all the cash, for all of the solar, for all of the glory after which really, none.
The reward is within the grace and within the face of a well-earned end, within the magic of motion, the thriller of breath, the way it eludes us and surprises us time and time once more, to thrill us to our personal victory, this crescendo of clapping for our personal soul when nobody else is in sight, when there’s nothing on the road, when nobody will seize on any system, make a report of it.
This — our personal blessed being hovering by the air one millisecond at a time, when face catches wind and cheeks are held in crispy chilly and our ultimate breaths, our most stentorian cheerleader.
Our breath, a give and a take, a take and a tug, a catch and a stumble,
A two-step and a waltz, all of sudden and by no means once more.
This breath and this breath,
of understanding and never, of crest and cascade,
of descend and climb, no time to cavort, no acquiesce,
solely a give up to reality in all complexity,
no drive, solely stream
onward, upward, and past,
staying true to breath, to its coming and going,
to its neverending continuum.
The writer, discovering her breath on a street run. Picture courtesy of Angie Funtanilla.