I come back to the breath

I’m in a sea i’ve not navigated before; wrestling with a demon in whose grip I’ve been helpless for what seems an age. The gusting wind brings the stagnant comfort of familiar smells just often as the enticing fragrance of undiscovered flowers yet to bloom. The sea surges, fear ebbs and flows; at times the water towers above me; at times I sit, slack sail going nowhere; at times I bend into the fast wind of change; at times the sea drops in sheer cliffs either side.
Drenched and weary from the last storm, raw from the confusing chaos of stress, memories, emotions, work and dreams, my anxiety squirms and wriggles, trying not to be seen. I keep looking, holding it in both hands, breathing, aware of the ebb and flow of panic underneath wrenching in my gut, eating at my mind.

And I stay with it, out of sight of familiar land. At least the stars are still familiar; well as familiar as a sky only a couple of months old can be – since the last time the sky slid into the ocean leaving an infinite black dome through which stars slowly, mercifully emerged: pin prick holes into worlds of light.

And as it always will, the sun rises, eventually. I know that chasing it just lengthens the night. You do not find the sun by hunting it, but by being open to the dawn while hunting in the world of shadows. So I stay with it, riding my anxiety with my breath, going deeper into places I’ve not dared tread before, consuming and being consumed, knowing that something, somewhere, will change, hopefully sooner rather than later.

Knowing that dawn will come, I come back to the breath.