The Great Gaspy

I just mediated, deeply. It's something I've been doing more of lately and, for some reason, it comes naturally to me. When I was a kid I was asthmatic. My mother would have to come to my elementary school every day during lunch with a portable nebulizer machine which would help me breathe. The machine was the size of a small cooler, and was an off-white beige color. We'd do this in an empty classroom. She'd take the translucent mask and fasten it to my face. A long, transparent hose connected to the bottom of the mask and then to the machine, where it would screw on top of a cotton white filter. The machine, once it was plugged in, would begin to hum as it vaporized a bronchodilator called albuterol, aerosolizing it so that it could be inhaled into my lungs, relaxing the constricted muscles around my airway. I would take long, soothing breaths, in, and out. This would go on for a long while, until all the medication was gone. I can still remember the way it smelled, like a sweet rubbing alcohol. I suspect this practice of focusing on my breath, especially as a child, must have primed me for adult meditation.

Flash forward to present day. Now, most people would probably find it difficult to sit idle for ten minutes, just breathing, letting their mind empty, not grasping. So, I started with twenty. The speed at which time passes during meditation is uncanny - simultaneously fast and slow. But the last few times, something strange has happened. My breath, about midway through the practice, becomes unsteady, almost gaspy, usually on the exhale. The shaking breath resolves itself after a second or two and then vanishes for an uncertain time, only to flutter back in and then out again. It seemed like it was just my body relaxing, knocking loose tension in my chest. But while speaking about it to James, an avid meditator, certified gypsy and world-renowned shamanic guru, he told me the phenomenon has a name and that I should try gently to explore it the next time it happens. So, today I surrendered to the shaking breath. I tried to listen to what it was telling me. It transported me back to a memory I had all but forgotten, from when I was a child. I'd been in some kind of argument with my father, I think. What surfaced was pain, hopelessness, fierce anger and despairing loneliness. Tears started as I remembered locking myself in my room and slamming the door. With balled fists and clenched teeth I cried in anger while standing in the corner, weeping, with shaking breath. In this meditative state I literally relived the sensation in my body, completely, thoroughly, as though it'd been trapped inside the entire time. The sound of the timer going off frightened me. Those twenty minutes had blown by. I was in awe at the power of those emotions, how hypnotic they were, the way the body had unlocked a memory.

I'll have more to report on this tomorrow. I also want to write about the paradox of tolerance.