I am daydreaming again.
Having stumbled upon the description of God’s breath hovering on the waters, my imagination has transformed me into a hummingbird. I am sitting still but my mind is buzzing.
Daydreaming is both a necessity for my writer-self and a luxury for my mother-self. It can also be a liability. Often, the open space of my dream state allows the tempest of my nightmares to overwhelm me. I am standing at the edge of a chasm, peering down at God’s breath hovering below me.
I feel light-headed: I could easily lose my balance.
Rabbi Tsvi Blanchard taught me that the ability to tolerate both the nightmare and the fantasy of my dream state empowers me to transform my fear to joy. As I embrace the truth of his teaching—my mind cannot soar higher unless it has hovered low—I struggle to discern my thoughts amid the noise of the dream. I am surrounded by chaos and nothingness.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with oxygen.
I exhale slowly, feeling steadier as my breath fades.
I take a second breath, emptying my mind of anxiety.
The third time, I close my eyes and hold my breath close to my heart.
Somehow, I find the strength to surrender the dream and wait in the spaciousness of the moment. As I exhale, I see my potential joy rising up like a fog lifting out of the deep chasm.
It is the breath of God hovering before me.
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