One day,
Your heart will beat for the last time.
Someone will hold your hand,
Or they won't.
The messages on your phone will stop.
The work on your desk will be left unfinished.
And the world will just keep going.
But,
Right now,
In this breath,
You are here,
Feeling,
Loving,
Losing,
Trying,
Praying.
This practice is for the part of you that knows all of this is slipping through your fingers and is desperate to find a way to live fully,
Tenderly,
Bravely,
While you still can.
Find a comfortable position,
Seated or lying down.
Let your body be supported.
Let your hands rest where they naturally fall.
And if it's safe,
Close your eyes or lower your gaze.
Taking a slow breath in through the nose,
And a soft exhale out through the mouth.
Again,
In through the nose,
And exhale,
Letting a little weight drop into the support beneath you.
You've come here for a reason.
Maybe it's anxiety,
Restlessness,
Trouble sleeping,
Or simply a feeling of being stretched thin.
For the next while,
There's nothing you have to figure out.
You are invited on a quiet journey through four biblical images that mirror your own life.
Let's begin at the beginning.
Imagine you are standing in a wide,
Silent landscape at dawn.
The air is cool.
The sky is just beginning to glow.
Look down and see the earth beneath your feet.
Dry soil.
Dust.
Tiny grains of sand.
Reach down in your imagination and gather a small handful.
Feel how easily it slips through your fingers.
The ancient story says that God formed the first human from the dust of the ground and breathed into that dust the breath of life.
For a moment,
Imagine you are that dust.
Simple,
Fragile,
And ordinary.
Now sense a gentle breath moving toward you.
And as you inhale,
That breath of life fills your whole body,
From your toes to the top of your head.
Inhale,
Breath of life.
Exhale,
I receive.
Again,
Inhale,
The breath of life.
Exhale,
I receive.
If thoughts are already starting to pull you away,
That's okay.
Each time,
Just come back to this breath of life.
You are not a machine.
You are not a problem to solve.
You are dust animated by love.
And as you continue this breath,
Let your shoulders soften.
Let your jaw unclench.
Let your belly loosen just a little.
For these next moments,
Your only job is to breathe.
Now imagine time begins to move and that dawn brightens in today.
The day stretches into a whole year.
And the year expands into a lifetime.
Around you,
The landscape shifts through the seasons.
See the fresh green of spring.
Beginnings,
Learning,
First attempts.
The fullness of summer.
Work,
Relationships,
Activity.
The golden tones of autumn.
Change,
Letting go.
The bare branches of winter.
Endings,
Stillness,
Waiting.
Let a few seasons from your own life float into awareness.
A beginning.
A time of fullness.
A time of loss or uncertainty.
Don't analyze these moments,
Just let them be.
The teacher in Ecclesiastes says,
For everything there is a season.
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to weep and a time to laugh.
And then,
He says,
God has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the human heart.
Place a hand gently on your chest if that feels right.
And feel your heart beating completely of this moment.
And yet,
Carrying a longing that reaches beyond this moment.
Coming back to your breath,
You inhale this season.
Exhale,
Eternity in my heart.
Inhale this season.
Exhale,
Eternity in my heart.
If you are feeling restless or anxious,
You might quietly say to yourself,
This too is a season.
It will not last.
Everything has its time.
You are allowed to be exactly where you are in yours.
Now the scene darkens a little.
The air grows heavier.
You find yourself in a more rugged landscape.
Rocks,
Wind,
A sense of exposure.
This is the world of job.
Let one struggle in your life gently come to mind.
A loss,
A disappointment.
A fear for the future or a grief.
Don't explore the whole story.
Just hold a small corner of this moment in your awareness.
Job knew what it was to lose almost everything.
He cried out for answers that didn't come.
And when God finally spoke,
It was not with an explanation,
But with questions that opened him up to the vastness of creation.
Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Have you ever commanded the morning?
Do you know the paths of the sea?
Can you bind the stars?
Feel the effect of that zooming out.
And in your imagination,
See yourself from above.
And the room you are in.
And your city.
The curve of the earth.
Our beautiful blue planet hanging in space.
The darkness speckled with countless stars.
Your struggle and hurt is real.
And it is held within a reality far larger than your mind can hold.
Take a slow breath and with the inhale you say,
I do not understand.
Exhale,
I am held in something larger.
Inhale,
I do not understand.
Exhale,
I am held in something larger.
You don't need to minimize your pain.
You are simply letting it rest in a wider sky.
You are a chapter,
Not the whole book.
A note,
Not the entire song.
Allow that to be a release for you.
And allow your shoulders to drop a little more.
Your belly a little softer.
You are not carrying this universe alone.
This rugged landscape of jaw begins to soften.
And you find yourself in a simple field.
Rows of earth,
Blue skies.
Stalks of wheat moving gently in the breeze.
And you recall how Jesus once said,
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
It remains alone.
But if it dies,
It bears much fruit.
Looking down at your hand,
You see a single grain resting in your open palm.
It's small,
Hard,
Self-contained.
This grain can be your plans,
Your need for control.
An old identity.
A fear you cling to.
Nothing about it is bad,
It's just closed.
Now imagine kneeling and placing that grain into the soil.
Feeling the cool,
Moist earth as you cover it lightly.
And let it go.
You don't have to know what will grow.
You don't even have to feel ready.
You're just practicing the movement of trust.
And you inhale,
Saying,
I release.
Exhaling,
I trust the ground.
Inhale,
I release.
Exhale,
I trust the ground.
Time passes in your mind's eye.
Rain falls.
The seasons turn.
And beneath the surface,
The shell cracks.
A tiny root reaches down,
And a thin green shoot reaches towards the light.
Soon,
The stalk of wheat stands where the single grain once lay.
It isn't destroyed,
But transformed.
It isn't preserved in isolation,
It multiplied.
And ask yourself.
Is there one small thing I am ready to hold a little more lightly?
Is it a way of controlling a harsh story about myself?
An old expectation?
Or even this fear of impermanence?
If something comes,
Acknowledge it.
If nothing comes,
That's okay too.
The image can work on you in its own time.
Once more,
Inhaling,
I let go.
Exhaling,
I trust the ground.
If you're close to bed and looking for help with sleep,
This may become your nighttime prayer.
I am the grain.
I can rest in the ground of love.
Now,
We gather the whole journey.
Dust and breath.
You are fragile,
And you are held.
Seasons.
Your life moves through changes,
And eternity is written in your heart.
Job.
Your struggles are real,
And they lived inside a vast and mysterious cosmos.
The grain of wheat.
Letting go is not the end,
But the beginning of a deeper life.
Notice if one of these images stands out for you now.
Let it be a small candle you carry into the rest of your day or into your night,
Illuminating something that you needed to hear.
Take one last super full breath in,
And a long,
Slow exhale.
If your eyes are closed,
You can keep them closed if you're drifting towards sleep,
Or gently open them if you're returning to your day.
I leave you with this simple sentence.
I am dust and breath,
Held in eternity,
Becoming something more than I can see.
Let that line meet you in moments of anxiety,
Restlessness,
Or prayer.
Thank you for taking this journey.
May you be gently companioned in every season of your one wild,
Passing,
And holy life.
Your friend,
Nicholas.
