When the world feels loud and far away, I return to my breath.
Not to change it. Not to tame it.
Only to watch. To witness.
To let the silence between inhales say what words cannot.
There is a breath that moves through you—not because you command it, but because something greater allows it.
It was with you before your thoughts began.
It will be with you when your thoughts have ended.
It is not yours. It is entrusted to you.
Each breath is a gift that asks for your attention.
A quiet invitation to return.
To presence.
To gratitude.
To a deeper awareness of what sustains you.
The breath is a bridge.
It connects what is seen with what is unseen.
It draws the body and the spirit into stillness, into a kind of knowing that does not speak, but recognizes.
With each conscious breath, you remember.
You remember that you are being held.
That your existence is not random.
That you were shaped with intention, and sent with purpose.
Breathing will not solve your problems.
But it may humble you.
It may soften your edges, loosen your grip, and reveal a truth you had forgotten.
You are not alone.
You are not lost.
You are still breathing.
And that is a sign.
So breathe.
Gently.
Gratefully.
And let each breath guide you back to the place within you that never left.