Photo by Fahmi Fakhrudin on Unsplash
My husband and I love coffee. It’s our treasured morning ritual. We enjoy it with heavy cream; life is too short to drink it with half and half or skim milk ;-)
He shakes the heavy cream before pouring, hoping to blend the milk fats back in. By the end of the week, we’re enhancing our coffee with homemade whipped cream. Delicious, but not what we intended.
I tell this story because it's a beautiful metaphor. All that richness from action and air. Perhaps you’ve watched something similar happen while whipping egg whites: beaters introduce air, turning slippery goo into something that can stand up like mini mountain peaks.
The same is true for us. Our bodies change through action and air too. We build strength by working against resistance, breathing through the effort. When I teach yoga, I’m continually inviting breath and movement to work together.
Action and air are essential ingredients when playing a harmonica, flute, or saxophone. A singer gives breath a voice. Without the pair there is no song.
In act of conversing, air takes on another meaning: allow space for someone else. Speaking requires breath. Meaningful exchange needs space (an air quality) in the form of pauses. You know what I mean if you’ve ever been with someone who “doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise.” Action in conversation takes the form of telling your truth, asking a question or offering an apology.
Perhaps one of the more challenging places for pairing action and air is in conflict repair. You know what I mean – that pit in your stomach, knowing something needs attention but feeling the air sucked right out of you. It is hard to make the call. Acknowledging a hurt can hurt. Sometimes we do need to give the situation air – space to settle before we can act with care. These moments are the ones inquiry can help with – Does this moment call for action, or does it need a little breathing room first? Space can prepare us for repair; not a way to avoid it.
Shaking the heavy cream introduces air. Air transforms the texture into something rich. Where might a little breathing room change the texture of your life? In your thoughts? Your relationships? Your expectations?
My husband is just trying to blend the cream. Like an alchemist he ends up changing the form. Action and air can transform us in ways we may have never intended.
We take action: begin a meditation practice, raise children, sign up for a class, or care for aging parents with one intention and discover that we have been changed along the way. Sometimes, ending up with something richer than we intended.
Our coffee ritual illustrates the unexpected richness of what action and air (movement and breath) can make room for.
In-joy the richness unfold.