Air is Earth’s Breath

How to speak with the breeze

Earth Sensory Perception is a subsection of Our Uncertain Future and represents a compilation of essays on animistic nature connections in the modern world.

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NOTE: July’s Intuitive EcoWriting Workshop, Writing Nature Memories is Wednesday, July 31st 11am-1pm MT. Registration closes July 24th. More info below.

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Air is Breath

I walked to the shade of the juniper at a fast pace. My elder dog turned around long ago, not interested in keeping up with me in this midday heat across the sage strewn mesa. This was the first large tree I came across, about a mile and a quarter from home. I sheltered to catch my breath.

I lost my breath a while back when I saw a glimpse of a horny toad, so magical that it disappeared before my eyes, blending deftly into the rocks and dirt. Or perhaps, I lost my breath a bit later when I was startled by a cluster of blue pinyon jays, jumping out of the brush, as flustered by me as I was by them. Perhaps the wind hid me. I can hide in the blustering wind, all sound of me dispersed, even my laborious breathing and tromping steps.

I walk heavily like an elephant. Unintentionally. That is just my trod, but with the wonderful consequence of alerting rattlesnakes to my presence via the vibrations of the earth. The earth is the body of the planet, the physical sensations, and vibrations. But the air is her breath.

She breathes in and out with our lungs and with the photosynthesis of the flora, with cold mountain winds and ocean breezes. The Earth whispers in birdsongs and sneezes tornadoes. She sighs in cumulus clouds. When she giggles, dirt-devils appear in remote deserts and tear away tent shelters, shade umbrellas and head scarves, tossing anything willing to join her laughter.

As I sit beneath the tree and spring mesa winds rage around me, I feel the earth hold me and support my bones. I wish my bones were hollow like a pinyon jay or a raven, then maybe the earth’s breath could carry me too across the gorge, over the mountains. But I can feel it against my skin, the earth, the wind. I can smell the wind like freshly brushed teeth, reminiscent of something minty and sweet, the Earth’s mouth opens to me. The Earth’s breath is also my breath. I cannot breathe without her constant resuscitation.

Breath is Spirit

The previous week, I had committed a typical for me erroneous act and scheduled two trainings simultaneously, Advanced Wilderness First Aid training that I needed immediately before my certification expired and a Pranayama and Meditation training that I needed for my Yoga Alliance membership continuing education credits. Since I signed up for the two courses months apart, I did not realize that they overlapped. The Pranayama and Meditation course was online and so I decided to move forward with both classes.

By day two, I was exhausted and stressed out. But it did not go unnoticed by me that while in one class I was studying how to save lives by breathing for people when they could not get enough air on their own, in the other class, I was studying how to teach people to breathe for themselves.

Pranayama is a term in yoga for breathing exercises or breathwork. And I was learning how to guide people to use their breathing to improve their physical, mental, and energetic well-being, all tied to the breath or more specifically prana.  In Sanskrit, prana means both breath and life force.

Another Sanskrit word that shows a parallel between breath and life force is the word atma, which translates to both breath and essence or soul. Atma also means soul in ancient Greek and is the root word for atmosphere, the whole mass of air surrounding the Earth. The ancient Greek word for breath is pneuma, and can translate to mean air in motion or divine breath of inspiration. In ancient Greek philosophy, psyche means the breath of life, derived from the Greek word psȳchḗ, which literally means breath. Psyche is often translated as soul or consciousness. The Latin word spīritus means breath, wind, spirit, or soul.

Hebrew also has a single word for both spirit and wind—the word ruach. David Abrams writes in The Spell of the Sensuous, “And the breath, for the ancient Semites, was the very mystery of life and awareness, a mystery inseparable from the invisible ruach—the holy wind or spirit.”

The word nílch’i in the Navajo language of Dineh translates to breeze or current of air, as well as the inner wind or holy wind of the body. As I understand it, nílch’i does not only refer to breath and air, but also the source of life, the power of motion of all living things and the communication between all beings.

Air is Spirit

Wind speaks. The wind is holy breath circulating the Earth’s psyche. It sings through leaves and flapping flags and tinkling chimes. It moans through mountain peaks and canyons. It whispers through pages of my notebook, through window screens and fence posts. Listen close to Wind for the answer to a question that wasn’t asked out loud, the drawing of two friends a step closer, the reminder of someone you used to know, the smell of childhood carried in a gust. Do not second-guess, but relish that tender moment between you and the atmosphere.

Today I am in a curious mood. I ask Wind, what is wholeness? What is holistic about me?  Wind swirls about expectantly without the definitive response I crave. Only a hint, a twirl, a suggestion. Perhaps wholeness is in the subtle, not the large proclamation, but gentle stirrings into being. Circling and circling, sighing in the subtle flicker of my hair strands, the backdrop of leaves singing, the scent of vanilla. All this to say, be patient, listen for clues, it is inevitable.

I was once told by an acupuncturist when my child was still very young that I had weak chi and should stay out of the wind. ​​I agreed with her. The wind seemed to steal my energy the way someone yelling unkindness at me might. So, because of those years of weak chi when I stayed out of the wind, I appreciate the wind even more now. I take my daily walks in the hollering wind throwing dirt in my face and I feel tough as a demoness, impossible to weaken or blow over. I feel my energy maintain its stamina and I know my chi/prana/atma/spiritus/pnuema/psyche/rauch/nílch’i is strong. 

My air is my life force. Every moment I am alive, I am breathing, sometimes gasping, sometimes shallow, sometimes deep belly breaths, like a bellows igniting fire inside my body or like a balloon inflating, lighting my load. The air is the breath of the Earth, the soul and life force of her being, an invisible mystery, a sacred secret, felt only when she exhales to touch you or calls to you with the instruments of her body. Her lungs are butterflies alight and flapping on the summer breeze, propelling me forward and keeping me afloat.