Writings

God's Breath

by Theresa Martin

I was practicing yoga on a grassy hill one warm spring day. I inhaled with the breeze, sighing my breath across the hill and into the woods. I felt my muscles stretch, liquid flowing from fingertips to toes. I shut my eyes and felt the sun on my skin.

I lay on my back, knees bent, raised my hips, clasped my hands under me, and rolled onto the tops of my shoulders. Bridge pose. The teacher’s gentle voice caressed me, breathe...breathe.

I opened my eyes and watched my stomach rise like a full moon, then wane. Breathe, she murmured.  Hold the posture. My lungs filled and the wind roared out of my body and screamed over the hill. Flames licked my buttocks, hot pokers stabbed my back. My chest rose and fell, crashing like waves against the shore.

Breathe, she sang with the birds, breathe. The ocean washed through my mouth. My body extended — rolled on and on. I felt God’s breath in me, lifting me.

Suddenly the pain in my body began to melt. My muscles soared with power, my breath filled the sky and shook the leaves in the trees. I felt light. I stood and looked down at the ground. My skin lay crumpled on the green carpet. It shivered in the sun, lost its shape without my body.

I looked around. The rest of the class littered the hill, each of them lying on their back in Dead Man’s Pose. The teacher sat on her knees, eyes shut, face raised to heaven — as if in the throws of ecstasy.

Hey everyone, I yelled, look what happened. I lost my skin!

One by one the others opened their eyes — green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes — all looking at me. Their stares embarrassed me. I wanted to jump back in my skin. I reached down and picked up my pale flesh. It sagged like an old pair of pajamas. I tried stuffing my legs in first, but it was too tight. I let go and my skin drooped to the ground and lay in a heap around my ankles.

It’s so beautiful, someone said.

Like a rainbow, a different voice added.

Really? I asked. My chest expanded. The sun bounced off me and surrounded them in a circle of light.

Coooool...all right, they said and clapped their hands.

That’s really great, the teacher said. The class was over so we put our hands together, prayer style, breathed in and out. Together the class chanted, Ohm. The sound danced over our heads and circled up to heaven. I was peace.

Namaste. Go in love, our teacher said.

I reached over, picked up my skin, and strolled down the hill alone. The others walked together, whispered. Suddenly I shuddered. Are they talking about me? I wondered. Could they be jealous?

The breeze blew gently. I noticed that it bit my flesh — without my skin to protect me, the air scraped my body. I started to cry. The salt in my tears burned rivers down my oozing cheeks. Oh why did I lose my skin? I cried. Now when the others looked at me, waved good-bye, I turned my head away to hide my tears. They mock me. They see how ugly I am under my epidermis. I have to quit this class. They’ve seen me without my skin, I thought. I stuffed my skin in my bag and jumped into my car.

I drove home like a demon. When I arrived screeching into the driveway, I dashed from my car to my house, hoping the neighbors would not notice my condition. I dove through the door, slammed it behind me, and leaned panting with my back to the hard wood. Feeling the doorknob with my right hand, I threw the lock. When I looked up a monster stared back at me from the front hall mirror. Without my skin, my organs sagged, my veins pulsed, my muscles twitched. What am I going to do? I cried at the gruesome reflection. This can’t be me.

I closed my eyes and thought, don’t panic…. Breathe deeply. I slowly began to relax and to feel my heartbeat. It was the heartbeat of the universe. Everything was perfect. I felt God’s breath in me – expanding, and infinite. Quickly, I tried to grab it – hold it with a thought. But it was gone!

I opened my eyes and angrily pulled my skin out of my bag, shook it out, tried to squeeze back into it. It was hopeless. It must have shrunk lying on that hill in the sun — or I had grown — it no longer fit me. I had breathed too deeply of God’s breath. I raised my bloody fist to heaven, cursed God for making me suffer, for making me too big for my skin. I lowered the blinds and sat in the cool darkness of my house. For days I sat, barely moving, trying to make myself small.

Then one day a ray of sun stole through the corner of a blind. I noticed that I was hungry, really hungry. I had to go to the store to get something to eat. Reluctantly, I grabbed my bag, draped an old shawl over my shoulders. I averted my eyes as I passed the hall mirror. Then, I opened the door and stepped out of my house. The sun hurt my eyes, and I squinted like a night creature caught by the first rays of dawn. I quickly scuttled to my car and drove to Stop and Shop.

Nobody seemed to notice me as I entered the store. Nobody stared as I padded on feet without soles up and down the aisles, gathering things into a basket, leaving bloody prints. A woman banged me with her cart as I stood in front of the oranges, squeezing them to test their freshness. Hey, I said, What’s the big idea? She turned her head and continued up the aisle.

I finished my shopping and went to the nearest checkout counter. The teenager at the register had long shining hair. Earrings laced her lobes — ten on each ear — all different.

Excuse me, I said. She looked around, bit her nails, and ignored me.

Excuse me, I said louder. Her hair fluttered as if a breeze had blown. She looked around, puzzled.

Mommy, what is that? A little girl of three or four, perched in the front of a shopping cart, pointed at me from the next counter.

Huh? Her mother piled groceries — chicken, pasta, tomato sauce, Cheerios, Yankee Doodles, liters of diet coke...

Mommy, what is that? The little girl kicked the front of the cart.

What are you pointing at honey? Stop kicking the cart. The woman grabbed her daughter’s feet.

There. Funny colors.

What, baby? More items spilled across the moving belt — bagels, Hostess cupcakes, Hawaiian fruit juice and cans of tuna fish...

Me, you idiot. She’s pointing at me! I screamed. The little girl laughed, kicked her legs, and clapped her hands. Her mother frowned, continued stacking groceries. The teenager in front of me leaned against the back of the counter with her right hand on her hip. She raised her left hand to her mouth and began to gnaw on the nail of her index finger.

I fled from the store, retreated back to my house. As I entered the front door, I looked in the mirror. I was shimmering space — no longer throbbing veins, white tendons, quivering muscles, bloody organs. I was colors floating and winking like falling light after fireworks.

Oh God, I want to be like everyone else. All this space is too scary. I want to be safe inside my skin again. Oh God, please help me, I prayed.

I breathed in through sparkling fragments of my being. The colors burst into triangles and circles of light. I prayed harder, desperately. Nothing happened, nothing changed, but suddenly everything was different. Suddenly I  knew the truth.  I sang without vocal chords, I danced without legs, I breathed without lungs, I prayed without lips. I took out my skin, caressed it, bathed it in oils. I quieted my spirit until I was still enough to feel God’s breath and I stepped back into my skin.