In my late twenties I wrote a poem named „Old woman giving advice to a young woman on how to live life fully“. On rediscovering it, I found this advice on breathing: „Breathe, it is all you have and more.“ What reads like an aphorism, written long before I became a breath teacher, makes me wonder where I got this idea from. Like many aphorisms, the meaning, or the message, is clear and yet, every time I think about it, I have the feeling that, actually, it eludes me. It’s a bit like the breath itself, clearly happening as I’m writing this, for example, and a mystery at the same time.
Old woman giving advice to a young woman on how to live life fully
Your eye is your head
Your brain is in your nose
Your tears are the rain for your peas
Don’t trust a shadow walking behind you
Unless you like the sound of your voice in a tunnel
Count your bones before you pack your bags
Look into other peoples’ mirrors, not your own
Wear green, it is the colour of poisonous snakes,
The colour of mercy
Be truthful to children and the dying
Lie to all those who want to believe you
Eat crab shells, they will teach you compassion
Disobey traffic lights and anyone who holds a stick
Walk as if you had a tail
Breathe, it is all you have and more
The trees are your teachers
The clouds are your sisters
The sky is your father
The sand is your mother
Or the grass
The flowers are your friends
They are the seeds you have sown
The animals are your lovers
Watch your step
The wind is your heart
And the sea your ears
All things that burn are your pain
Watch in amazement from a distance
Love the stones, they will be yours
Touch freedom when you can
Drink wine, it was invented for a purpose
Everything you see you have painted
Bears would not be averse
To gazelles if they could run
Nor is the crocodile
Odilon Redon was a genius
Hardly anyone knows this
Don’t be afraid of men in your bathtub
Your mouth is made for kissing
Not forgetting
Dessert is the food of the greedy
Cream is the moon of the cat
Lice will clear your head
Flour is for baking
You are your own bread
Take heed of your crust
Use your fingers
Use your toes
To lift the hat of the egg
Don’t mourn the dead
They are your visitors
And usually outstay their welcome
Don’t lock your door
It is the door to your self
Love criminals, it will disarm them
sweat and swim
No one will thank you.