the sacred breath

The afternoon was crisp and cool like an apple waiting in the ice box. I slung a shawl around my pointed shoulders, a cloth dripping in weight and warmth, hoping it would keep me anchored to the earth. But as soon as I looked up I began to float- my heart rose to my fourth chakra, which tightened around its bindis. My open throat twitched and flexed. I pulled my shawl tighter but it was to no avail-  as my feet scraped across the wooden planks I arched my heels and drew in my toes, but slowly my heels left the ground and I began to sense a warm harsh air underneath my toes, where it had once met with wood and was now hovering above the planks.  My fingers quaking, they clutched first the corner of the counter and then as I was lifting drew my hands anxiously toward the next closest thing… garlic to keep me grounded, a chilli pepper to keep me present in it spindling and spiky heat. Baby tomatoes from my plant on the windowsill, plucking one by one like dreams gone by, even the orange heirloom sleeping curled like a secret at the bottom of the pot. Still I was lifting… bracing myself and baring my teeth I waited for my head to bump against the ceiling…

Then  I remembered my breath, that ancient silver key, and as I drew it through and across me I sank, heels pushing into the velvet earth, and the soles and my souls found groundedness.