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Picture this: You're minding your own business, strutting through the cosmic joke that life sometimes appears to be, when suddenly—bam!—life elbows you right in the diaphragm.
Air flees your lungs like tourists from a rainstorm, and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed, contemplating your existence on the ground. Welcome to being windless. It's not just a playground mishap; it’s a profound, if somewhat brutal, spiritual awakening.
In Eastern philosophy, particularly the Taoist view, every setback, every literal or metaphorical loss of breath, is an opportunity—a wild, open-door invitation to embrace the natural flow of life. Lao Tzu would probably say, "When you lose your breath, you find the Tao." And you, right there on the floor, are indeed finding something, aren’t you?
Now, let’s look at this from a Chinese medicine perspective, where breath is your life force, known as Qi. It flows through pathways in the body, ensuring health and vitality.
Normally, breathing is as automatic as blinking, but what happens when it's snatched from you? You suddenly become acutely aware of its value. This jarring reminder to appreciate the simple act of breathing parallels the importance of not taking for granted the smooth phases of life.
When the air is knocked out of you, your body panics; a primal alarm system goes off. Adrenaline rushes, your heart pounds, and in this moment of sheer vulnerability, you are incredibly, undeniably, painfully alive. It’s raw. It’s real. And hilariously, it’s often a reminder that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been breathing all wrong.
From the standpoint of Chinese medicine, proper breathing nourishes the body, calms the spirit, and ensures a smooth flow of Qi. Breathing deeply, from the belly, not only brings better health but also resilience. Each breath is a mini lesson in managing life's surprises. The shock of losing it momentarily? That’s your crash course. Congratulations, you’ve just been enrolled in the school of hard knocks, where the curriculum is learning to breathe through chaos.
Think about it—getting the wind knocked out of you is the ultimate pause button. Life's way of saying, "Hold up! Let’s rethink this breathing thing." And while you're sprawled out, you get a moment, albeit enforced, to truly contemplate the sky, or the ceiling, or the face of a concerned friend. It’s an unsolicited break, a radical nudge from the universe to reflect and reboot.
In these moments, the wisdom of the Eastern philosopher Mencius comes to mind, who noted that the great man is he who does not lose his child’s heart. In recovering your breath, there’s a chance to reconnect with a child-like wonder for life. To laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. To giggle, as you regain your breath, about how serious you’ve been about an existence that demands to be acknowledged through such jarring hiccups.
Now, let’s take a humorous swing at this: Imagine if getting the wind knocked out was a scheduled event? Perhaps it’s the universe’s least popular subscription service, delivered unexpectedly, just when you think you’ve got all your ducks in a row.
Bam! Time to remember what matters, courtesy of the cosmos. It’s the kind of subscription you can’t cancel, but eventually, you learn to appreciate the reminder.
So, next time life elbows you in the stomach and watches as you fold faster than a cheap umbrella, take a moment. Catch that breath when it comes back. Reflect on the fragile beauty of being so abruptly human and how these moments of breathlessness teach resilience, awareness, and maybe, just maybe, how to laugh at the absurdity of gasping on the ground, only to stand up, breathe deep, and keep walking the winding, wild path of existence.
As you rise, remember the Eastern teachings: in the sharp intake of a much-needed breath lies a microcosm of life’s most profound lessons. Breathe in. Breathe out. The curse is a blessing. The end of your breath is merely the beginning of a deeper appreciation for the quiet moments in between. So inhale the chaos, exhale the cosmos, and keep stepping lightly on this laughably unpredictable journey.
Those groundless moments are precious indeed!
Be honest with me, you wrote this just for me today, right? Synchronistic timing. This is an essay that goes into my saved archived. Thank you Diamond Michael, everything about this I needed to hear today.
For the record, I’ve had the breath literally knocked out of me, twice, both by helmets to the solar plexus during HS football games. That feeling is so unique and terrifying—nothing you do helps to “catch your breath.” Ironically, only a calming relaxing into the moment, controlled not by one’s will but by one’s nature (Tao!), allowed the breath to return. Then, partner those feelings with the recent death of a pet dog, that was unexpected and sudden, much like those helmet tackles, and the feeling definitely is metaphorically, if not also physically, the same. I am so grateful for the way you framed everything through the Taoist lens.
You have helped me today. 🙏🏼