I found many books and articles on
healing. And what I found was
that in some yogic traditions the number of
breaths a person takes is thought
to determine age more accurately than their number of birthdays. It is also said that each person has a predetermined
number of breaths. This means that if a
person takes slow, deep breaths they are sustaining life, I explained.
The woman lying
next to me sighed as though frustrated, then turned toward me. She was in the hospital recovering from a
similar surgery and we had been roommates for three days. You know what that means? And without waiting for an answer, she
continued, That means I shouldn’t exercise because breathing speeds up when
your heart speeds up.
I stared at her
deliberately and then my eyes sunk back down toward my book. Let me think on that, I said. I read.
I let a polite minute pass before closing the curtain. I continued to
read on the subject of breath, thinking, as I put an Airlife
Machine to my lips, that this Western treatment was
centered on the same premise. The nurse
had given me this machine which consisted of a plastic tube connected to a
measuring device, with the explicit instructions to inhale eight times into the
machine each hour which would reduce my odds of getting an infection. The idea here was to breathe deeply enough to
cause a small blue arrow to reach the top of the machine. There had to be a connection.
A healthy body heals so long as you let it
rest, my father said. While I was in
this
healing process I began to notice things about my body I never had
before. I listened to my needs
carefully, only eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, and despite tone of
day and social norms that imply one should only sleep at night, I slept when my
body needed to rest.
Illness has the
potential to bring a person into the moment, forcing them to become conscious
of what is going on inside. In response
to pain we must pay close attention to it, try to pinpoint it, and find the root
in order to cure ones self.
During a follow-up
appointment my doctor told me that I had a slow heart rate. Due my slight hypochondria, I asked her if
that was a bad thing. She explained that
people who exercise regularly actually tend to have slower heart rates, on
average, than those that do not stay in shape.
This would then mean that their breathing patterns are slower as well, I
thought.
So, it’s a good
thing, she finally said. Thus, slower
breath does-in some way-mirror good health.
It was a start. And it was fuel
to stick with meditation. I began
concentrating on nothing but deep inhalation and exhalation, for twenty minutes
each morning.
There seems to be
a time when one is first diagnosed with illness, that become so caught up in the
whirlwind of discerning illness, family and friends, treatment and preperation
that one doesn’t even really give thought to the fact they are, in fact, ill.
Once at home in recovery
there is a certain comfort that surrounds and embraces the sick-a quiet comfort
that the hospital cannot imitate. For
me, the surroundings of my own home felt luxurious. Friends stopped by to bring me movies,
coffee, and soup. I became overwhelmed
for a while-secretly coveting alone time as though it were gold.
But eventually the
crowd disperses. This didn’t take long. And then it was just me and my pain. The only goal in my world became
healing. I turned to my stack of
books. They told me this meant paying
close attention to myself; my body. They
said this can be a scary time—this stretch of time when everyone else is
away. This is truly an opportunity for
one to think. In other words, no escape
and nodistraction, just me and my failing body, attempting to repair and get
ready, once more, for the world.
I found there is a
healing power to creativity. Writing,
painting, drawing, creating plans, cooking, and digesting books (with the
attention they deserve) are just a few examples of what this healing time can
provide. I believe creativity can be
summoned at incredible heights when one has the ability to eliminate outside
distractions and jump inside their pain, to communicate with complete focus and
fuel to say what one wants to say. This is
where the heart of creativity blooms and its healing powers begin.