A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab
I have an itchy eye, and I finally went to a specialist to get advice and treatment. He suggested that I put a warm wash cloth on my eyes for 5 minutes each day. So I’ve been doing that for about ten days.
For me, ten breaths equals about 30 seconds. I figured that out when I first started doing stretches after working out. I learned that 30 seconds is a good amount of time to do each stretch. So, in order to avoid having to check a clock every time I do a stretch, I just count 10 breaths. Therefore my washcloth-on-my-eyes-for-five-minutes discipline requires 100 breaths.
Sure, I could set a timer for 5 minutes, but for some reason I like counting the 100 breaths.
In the first ten or twenty breaths with the washcloth over my eyes, I am overwhelmed by all sorts of sensory information that I seldom notice. The whoosing sound that comes from the heating vents seems so loud. The crunching of a car on the gravelly street seems clear and vivid. I find it amazing how prominent those noises seem when my eyes are covered up and I can’t see anything.
After fifteen or twenty breaths, those sounds fade into the background, and my focus shifts to my body. I can feel the sofa beneath my thighs and behind my back. I notice that my shoulders are tense and tight, and I loosen them, trying to relax the tension. I can feel my stomach longing for breakfast. Again, I am amazed by how seldom I notice what’s going on in my physical body. (Except for hunger. I notice that too readily!)
By the fortieth or fiftieth breath, I’m still counting, but now I’m thinking about my day. What I need to do, how I’m going to get those things done. I usually lose count somewhere in the 60s or 70s because I’m focused on strategizing, but by that point I’ve put in enough time with the warm washcloth that I can estimate where I was, pick back up, and assume I’m keeping it on long enough.
So many things about this endeavor surprise me. I find it amazing what a short time I can spend focused on sensory information. After forty or fifty breaths, about two and a half minutes, my mind is finished noticing sounds and the sensations in my body. My brain moves on to something else. I also find it surprising how much I enjoy those first couple of minutes when I am focusing on sensory information. I wonder if I live my life in my head so much that I am missing a lot of what’s going on around me and in me. Listening to sounds and feeling my body seems so refreshing.
Why do I like this so much? Is my life so full of activity that just sitting for 100 breaths is a treat? Am I simply entertained by how unexpected my experience is? Or are the 100 breaths in themselves something special – breath and life given to me by God, reminding me of my utter dependence on God as a beloved creature.
