2008 Woodie Awards
Absorb art and light with every breath
Ashley Inguanta
Issue date: 6/26/08 Section: Opinions
You can go through life breathing, but you may never feel a thing.
This is what I realized last week as I was changing a lightbulb in my bedroom. Apparently I forgot to turn the light switch off before I changed the bulb, because when I attached the new one, it immediately lit up, burning my fingers. I jolted, pulling my hands down as a reflex, a protective instinct used to keep you alive, just like breathing. Only when you breathe, the light tends to pass you by. When you get burnt, the light stings you.
When you go to the doctor for a check-up, one of the first things he does is analyze your breathing. Then he checks your ears, throat, nose, blood pressure and heartbeat. Everything is clear, and you may leave. Your life is intact; all mechanisms are hinged and oiled. But there is one thing he didn't pick up on - your breathing's natural state, its everyday pattern. Your lungs are not taking in nearly enough air.
In my own life, I was fortunate enough to have someone tell me that in order to discover more about myself, I needed to change the way I was breathing.
When it comes to everyday living, you can have a beating heart and working lungs and never know what to do with them. Yes, it is wonderful to live. But what are you living for?
Art, like light, can sting, burn and jolt you. Whether it is the language of a poem, the characters of a film, the guitars of a song, or the colors and shapes of a painting, art can flip the switch of your mind's lightbulb, releasing heat waves of ideas that radiate into your body.
The first time I read the poem "Everything Is Waiting for You" by David Whyte, its honest tone and steady rhythm overwhelmed me, taking a heap of the world's energy and molding it into words. With one line in particular, the voice of the poem's speaker grew louder: "To feel abandoned is to deny the intimacy of your surroundings." When I feel people pouring out of my life like water, I repeat this line to myself. But while my surroundings' "intimacy" may not always serve as a substitute for the people I miss, this poem radiates light in the form of hope.
This is what I realized last week as I was changing a lightbulb in my bedroom. Apparently I forgot to turn the light switch off before I changed the bulb, because when I attached the new one, it immediately lit up, burning my fingers. I jolted, pulling my hands down as a reflex, a protective instinct used to keep you alive, just like breathing. Only when you breathe, the light tends to pass you by. When you get burnt, the light stings you.
When you go to the doctor for a check-up, one of the first things he does is analyze your breathing. Then he checks your ears, throat, nose, blood pressure and heartbeat. Everything is clear, and you may leave. Your life is intact; all mechanisms are hinged and oiled. But there is one thing he didn't pick up on - your breathing's natural state, its everyday pattern. Your lungs are not taking in nearly enough air.
In my own life, I was fortunate enough to have someone tell me that in order to discover more about myself, I needed to change the way I was breathing.
When it comes to everyday living, you can have a beating heart and working lungs and never know what to do with them. Yes, it is wonderful to live. But what are you living for?
Art, like light, can sting, burn and jolt you. Whether it is the language of a poem, the characters of a film, the guitars of a song, or the colors and shapes of a painting, art can flip the switch of your mind's lightbulb, releasing heat waves of ideas that radiate into your body.
The first time I read the poem "Everything Is Waiting for You" by David Whyte, its honest tone and steady rhythm overwhelmed me, taking a heap of the world's energy and molding it into words. With one line in particular, the voice of the poem's speaker grew louder: "To feel abandoned is to deny the intimacy of your surroundings." When I feel people pouring out of my life like water, I repeat this line to myself. But while my surroundings' "intimacy" may not always serve as a substitute for the people I miss, this poem radiates light in the form of hope.