the space between breaths

I’m breaking my inner monologue with greater frequency than what I’d consider “passable in public” and I’m really not sure why. Granted, speaking to myself aloud is an old habit, one I could not begin to pinpoint its origin. I normally take precautions to ensure I am not noticeably having a conversation with myself – for example, animals are a fantastic resource for one whose inner monologue must be channeled into some expression through what I understand the present moment to be – a stream of thoughts. I’ve sadly not had an animal companion in too many years, and at some point do wish to rectify this. When I’m not at home, I’ll sometimes put in my ear buds and just pretend that I’m on the phone with someone and speak quietly to myself. I also wonder if anyone else does this. But I’ve forgotten to put them in at times and it’s now started to become noticeable by randoms. I have been receiving some very strange looks at the shops lately.

I’ve always said that I’ve had to speak the words to make the thoughts real. There’s something about sound – more on that another time. Recently I was watching a philosopher speak about how we are movie screens with which our lives play out in a movie upon us — our reality is a hologram projected onto us moving at the speed of light — yet we are the ocean where thoughts are waves, they are us, there’s no separation though at times it seems as though the wave is isolated, it is still always part and -is- the ocean. I have spoken often about how I do not know how to really separate what is often described as being polar opposites – when I truly feel the present moment I feel everything all at once, there is no separation between it because it all melts away into an expression of I don’t know how to describe it, there are no words that make sense. Joy and sorrow at once, gratitude and disappointment, fury and compassion, and in the middle of them both I have found where they all fit together. I don’t have full control over reaching these moments, but I have had a number of them so far in life. When I am crying and laughing at once, where there is no difference between them. When I see exactly what everything really is, what I really am. But I have not sustained those moments – they come to me in waves, but reaching them has become increasingly easier. Through all this though, I must be able to vocalise my thoughts, give the ones that this wave of consciousness that is me, that is lensed into interacting with this body. I cannot seem to reason properly, to engage with my existence properly, without doing so. It’s as though I’m talking to the rest of me, the ocean, and I’m the wave looking at the rest of me thinking that I’m separate from it. I also see the ways in which different waves create others, the ripple effect it can have. I liked the analogy of being a wave of the ocean.

These are all my thoughts and they all have the right to be acknowledged, but that does not mean they have the right to be entertained. I feel compelled to speak aloud the ones I need to entertain, and at times they are merely memory exercises and by saying out loud what I need to remember later will help me remember – the data is still unclear as to this approach’s efficiency. The other times it is as though some thoughts would never have occurred to me had I not began by speaking aloud about them. There are times when I’ve been reasoning out a particular point, going through correlations, inferences, assumptions, and via that process of a lot of muttering (or straight-up chatting) to myself I’d see something I’d never linked before. Sometimes saying things with just the right phrasing, using just the right words, creates a bridge between ideas that had no previous link. I can also stop racing thoughts by speaking out loud. Control of one’s breath is the most efficient way to reach a state where you can see everything for what it is. There are many times where I have reached a point during running or dancing where I feel the most connected to my body and the physical moment, where I control my breathing and my motions and there is no other moment than exactly right then. Motion is a form of meditation – you see the truth in the space between breaths.


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