Hey relative! For the month of December I am trying out a new publishing format. On Monday I will send out a new essay along with a note on what I am listening to, reading, and creating. There will be an additional Friday post for paid subscribers to include either an embodiment practice, or recipe. If you have questions, or feedback, I’d love to hear from you. Thanks!
Imagine yourself as a microbe. You have tentacle-like limbs instead of hair, which changes style depending on where you want to go. You share resources in a community of other organisms and bacteria that live in the ocean. You are small but mighty, and you thrive in unusual places. Inspired by your surroundings, or as a result of changing climatic factors—or both—you start getting curious. You reach out to a neighbor to suggest teaming up for a roadtrip. A sort of love story ensues and, as they say, the rest is history.
While this is a simple retelling of how life moved toward land, growing evidence can trace our ancestral roots to a microorganism known as cyanobacteria—the first relative to photosynthesize. The migration of our early predecessors had a transformative impact on the atmosphere, catalyzing a dramatic rise in oxygen through the consumption of carbon dioxide. This gaseous symphony set the stage for the Great Oxidation Event, creating the conditions for animals and people to survive. All the while, oxygen and carbon dioxide exchange became the hallmark of our planet, as James Nestor writes, “To breathe is to absorb ourselves in what surrounds us, to take in little bits of life, understand them, and give pieces of ourselves back out. Respiration is, at its core, reciprocation.”
As the Earth has evolved, our curiosity has followed. For millennia we have made meaning out of the remarkable koan of human life through story, attempting to sort ourselves out; to understand what it means to breathe. The question of breathing and breathability is one that I approach through a Black eco-feminist framework. Chinese medical philosophy and time spent with plant relatives also inform my understanding, and within each is a commitment to radial depth; to getting to the root. To breathe is an extraordinary gift, and the breath, by nature, patterns herself according to circumstance.
In This Here Flesh, Cole Arthur Riley, speaks to the formation of the breath in the chapter on Belonging. In the vein of Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, and Octavia Butler, she offers the gift of world-building. In the opening sentence Riley speaks about how the breath was formed. She says, “Long, long ago, when the earth was still as silence, the moon got all choked up on the beauty of the stars. She coughed and the wind was born.” Riley goes on to describe the nature of wind, how she moves about desperately trying to find respite in search of self. Eventually, God inhaled the wind, noticing the extent of her loneliness, and exhaled her into humans. Not unlike us, the wind is always looking to be held in community; to take in and give out; to belong.
Our ancestors knew that to work with the breath is to work with the spirit—a powerful medicine that enabled us to transmit culture, healing wisdom, and ecological knowledge. As the loss of oral tradition parallels the loss of ecological diversity and climate change, it is crucial that we come to terms with what else is at stake. It is also important to consider what we might regain by connecting with the breath, and re-entering into relationship with the Earth—which is to say, ourselves and each other—by actively returning to the memory of how we came to breathe.
This Friday’s missive will include an embodiment practice for beginners, and seasoned practitioners, focused on bringing awareness to the breath. Through the month I will be saving the practices and recipes in a catalogue available for all paid subscribers.
What I’m listening to: Spotify shared that I have been listening to my fair share of the Ghostbusters and Power Rangers theme songs through the year (shout out to my little one for keeping it live). Still, Weird Fishes, by Lianne La Havas, has also been on heavy rotation. There is so much to love about this song—the interplay between vocals and bass, quiet and volume, and the change in tempo is deeply evocative. This track has made its way on to several breathwork playlists.
What I’m reading: I recently finished reading This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley. I am still making connections in my mind, and reveling in the awe that this debut novel brings to the collective table.
What I’m creating: This past weekend, I joined fellow herbalists across Ohio at the United Plant Savers Goldenseal Botanical Sanctuary for the exhibit grand opening of the Ohio Herbal Elders Project. I had the honor of presenting my work as an artist, and health practitioner for the project. The exhibit combines documentary photography, oral history interviews with each elder, and exhibit panels. You can experience the exhibit in person through April 15, 2023, or check out the companion digital exhibit on the UpS website.