Living Breath, Reanimating Death

Gasping for air after a valiant attempt at some more advanced yoga postures, I lay breathlessly on the floor of a dimly lit room. All analytical thought was banished from my mind and I was treated to a most peculiar peace of mind. As I dwelt in this refreshingly placid state, my attention effortlessly focused upon my breathing. Under the right circumstances, in times such as these, the breath is a transcendent portal, a majestic entrance into a realm both foreign and beautifully familiar. Soon my eyes began drinking in my surroundings quite unconsciously, for there were no directives given from the tyrant who so often governs my mind. All at once I was observing a network of cobwebs and its cemetery of fallen flies, forever motionless in a snare so wondrously spun by some arachnid architect. The miniscule fly corpses seemed like black stars, forming strange constellations in a stringlike sky of white. I began to notice the effect of my exhalation on this melancholy tapestry. Each out breath caused the web to sway, bringing motion and a sense of lively dance to the departed flies. Oh bizarre replica of life, when the living breathes upon the dead. Is it so with me? Can goodness be wrought through those long lifeless when the breath of the Divine graces their sordid souls? Move me.