Poetry

My Breathing Body

Margot Biestman
January 31, 2004

My body is taken
By the breath that moves me.
Warm power rising,
Breathing substance
Growing from darkness below,
From a sacred chamber,
Through golden doors,
Portals—
That open into
My Torah—

Breath is my teacher—
Following simple, natural, breath laws
In a jeweled room
Of gold columns
And green stones,
And blues, and dark purple,
Sparkling jewels
Within my body temple.

Golden columns rising higher now,
Transforming
Into a swirling, thick, flowing,
Golden substance,
Where I
Am touched.
I sense my Self
Connecting with the Divine.

I sense my breathing body
As a sacred container
In which I am living
My life.
I sense my Self living,
In my body,
Around me
I sense the outer world as
Whole.
I am in this experience
That comes not from my mind.
I am in it,
And I am IT.

I sense my vertebrae—
Breath moving them.
Into their places,
Spreading and laying down.

Then breath moving upwards
Into my chest,
My open throat,
Singing a song
Of whitish light green
And aquamarine,
A halo of showering sparkles
And breath wings
Moving,
Through membranes,
Of temple, head, and hair,
Breath movement streaming
Out to the horizon and up.

I am blessed,
In a state of being
In ecstasy.
Within a sacred body,
Within a sacred soul,
Blessed,
And part of a greater whole.

I dwell in peace,
In the kingdom of Heaven
In my body,
Whole,
Human
Connected to Divine

I am asked,
“Do you work a lot for world peace?
It seems so.”
I answer,
“It’s only when I sense and experience
My own inner peace,
That I can offer it to others.
This is part of my life’s work.”

I AM BREATHED

By Margot Biestman
Published in "The Healing Breath Journal", Joy Manne, Ph.D, editor

I am breathed,
Moved by the breath
From the silence,
From the Greater Power
That breathes me.
I am in this breath,
In my physical body,
I live here, in my container.
I am my breath.

I wait in the silence
For the impulse
That starts my new breath cycle,
Inhalation—receiving, growing wide.
Transition,
Transformation into
Exhalation—flowing, connecting, expressing,
Transition,
Into form
Informing me,
Silence,
Transition
Impulse, anew
I am in each cycle,
Fresh and different,
My unique rhythm.

I am tiny,
Within the whole of all things,
Sensing movement of breath
In my physical body,
In this way
Breath movement
Opens to my soul and spirit.

With all this
My life can never be the same.
I know not how it will be,
I only know it changes.
I can not pull,
I can not push,
I can not want,

I can not disturb
Myself or others.

I am breathed.
I am my breath.

SENSING BREATH

Margot Biestman
February 14, 2004

Sensing breath moving
In me,
Is experiencing God
In my body,

Is moving my Self
Is moving me,

From my inner being
Unfolding
Into the outer world.

Sanctity and a Tree

by Margot Biestman
September 26, 2001

I hugged a giant redwood,
As far as my arms could reach around,
A tree that's ten times my body with arms extended
Around to hug.
That 2,000 year old tree received me,
And I received it.

I stood with my back to the giant redwood,
And that 2,000 year old tree received me,
Supported me to grow,
And sent me a message.

We stood together
Separate entities and connected.
We grew together
Separate and connected,
In the presence of God that holds us all.

I asked, "How did you stand and grow for 2,000 years?"
It answered, "The core of my being remains in tact,
Stands with integrity."
I sensed my own core--in tact, with integrity.

I asked, "How did you stand for 2,000 years
While civilizations crumbled and continue
On that same path?
How did you stand while others fell around you,
Destroyed?"

It answered, "The core of my being is strong and grows.
It receives the gift of life,
I am born to grow here
And receive
And offer havens,
In a place of grace
Where I can unfold without man's assaults."

I sensed my own gift of life,
And I am born to grow,
To receive,
And to offer havens
In this time and place.

I opened my eyes.
The giant tree was scarred by lightning's fires,
Moved by winds, by storms.
Its core, its soul, remains in tact.
The giant tree holds webs for spiders,
Holds hiding places for those
Who need to grow inside,
Just by its being,
Its receiving,
Its offering.

Its roots grown down into the earth,
Its trunk spiraling upwards
Giving birth to its branches
Waving like tiny flags in the autumn breeze.

It offered a sanctuary today
For my heart,
My soul,
To rest in peace--
For as long as I breathe
And as the tree breathes,
And as we are breathed by the greater power
Far beyond.

I Didn’t Know You Were Here!

Margot Biestman
February 14, 2004

This morning early,
Before dawn,
When I was troubled
And couldn’t sleep,
I let myself by carried,
As if for the first time.

My bed came up to snuggle me,
And my breath responded
In movement through my body.
Soft and strong.

I drifted off slightly,
Almost to sleep,
From my unconscious
I came back to consciousness
With my voice saying,
“Oh, I didn’t know you were here.”
Then I asked,
“How long have you been here?”
And my answer came,
“Margot, I’ve always been here,
Waiting—for you.”

My Self greeted me
This early morning,
For the first time,
Without my wanting,
Without my digging for it,
Nor urging, coaxing,
Nor manipulating,
Without being angry with myself
For my breathing Self not being there.

My Self connected with the Greater Power,
Became one with it,
In breath—moving me.
A oneness of Breath, God, and I.

Hope springs eternal,
From dark depths
Into light.

MY EXPERIENCE OF BREATH

By Margot Biestman
10/28/00

In this time of timelessness,
I am everything and nothing,
All at once.

All is simple,
And deep-profound.

I am
Breathing movement.

I am a medium,
A living body,
Between heaven and earth
Through whom breath passes.
As it comes and goes on its own.

I am transparent,
Doing nothing,
I am being breathed.

I sense my body-its matter.
I am given this gift as a container for my soul and spirit
In this life,
My life-time.

I simply sense this breath
Move through my body
And out into the world and beyond.
I am present for it.

I receive this gift from the higher power,
God-given.
My essence-my God within me
Is connected to the God of all things,
And I am called to respond,
To say, "Yes," to all the power I have,
And all that I am.

I am less fearful of death,
Because I sense that all becomes breath,
When it is time for my body to die.

This is simple.
Not an idea nor a concept,
It comes not from imagination nor vision.
It is my truth
Of breath experienced.

Transformations with Breath

Margot Biestman

Day 1

I am dedicated
To being
In whatever state of being
I am.
Today I am disappointed.
I am sad. . .

Breath comes and goes on its own
It carries myself and all my feelings
Within my body container-
I've never been able before,
To live in my feelings
In my body,
Breath transforms feelings
Into life
And new adventure.
I trust that I find my truth,
Of where to go,
And how to be,
Moment by precious moment.

Day 2

I am with myself among people,
Sensing breath movement,
Inhale, exhale, pause-silence.
I am in moments of silence.
My eyes from within listen.
I see clearly from inside my Self,
And to my outer world,
Underneath a canopy,
At a table
Where we celebrated breathing
And being together
Last night.
Surrounded by olive trees
And cypress,
A little further beyond my sight right now
Is a blue, blue sea,
Of giant swells from deep below,
Rolling and changing colors.
And here before my eyes
Brown leaves on brown grass ground.
I receive clearly.
Burned out candles,
White wax caught solid in their drippings.
Macabre.
White cloth
Candelabra
Iron pieces,
Bricks.
Crumbling walls
Crumbling building
And worn and peeling painted walls,
A twisted old vine above with no leaves,
Some ancient rituals here,
Doors to unknown,
Who lived here?

Smells of death
Decay,
And living at the same time,
As life carries on and on and on,
And me in it.

Things and people
Are not what they first seem.
Depth of soul.
Penetrating.
The more I am in my breath body
The deeper I penetrate.
Questions fall away,
Things I once saw
Change,
Transform into something new.
Inhale, exhale, pause.

Today I am here
Among smiles,
Of people I've met,
Through breath.
I am intrigued,
Drawn to the past,
And drawn to living in the present,
In this place,
In this time.
I turn to listen to
Dying
And living.
Not knowing.

Broken times
Healing times,
Living now times,
Laughing and crying time.
Connecting times.

With breath moving
In our bodies
And all around us in a great power
That holds us all in trust,
In one giant living Silence,
I wait.
Inhale, exhale, pause.
Silence
All on its own,
Moving me.
I am moved.

Day 3

The scene of yesterday,
Has opened
To spaces
Between objects
And living
In the objects
And the spaces
And colors of gray patches of cement,
And ochres and reds,
And air,
And life in the twisted old vines.
Dripping wax no longer holds macabre.
Just remains of celebration
Of the night before,
And those before that.

An openness today
Of unknown secrets
Revealed
In the open,

There's nothing wrong or right.
It simply is
Life as it is,
Simple really.
With old and new.
With me
With friends,
Sounds of eating-crunching,
Silence.
Inhale, exhale, and pause.

Day 4

Today still more space
Between the objects
I sense it's a space within me
To receive my Self.
Seeming cobwebs from days before
Have given way to
A way of life
In old places
That brings new life,
Like that twisted old vine
Which had once seemed dead.
Today holds life,
A dish cloth
Hung out to dry on it.

My Self is included.

My surroundings-old
Yet clean,
Canopy holding shade
As the sun rises over the mountain.

This all becomes my cozy breakfast place
Of cheese and fruit and bread and nuts,
Basil in pots,
Rosemary too,
Among weeds and tangled branches.
A butterfly lights,
A metamorphosis.

People of different languages
Who have become my friends
Speaking the language of breath
That connects us
And all beings who choose
To sense in our bodies,
Our gifts
Of inhale, exhale, and pause.

Day 5

I hadn't expected to return today
To this place.
But here I am.
I didn't want to meditate with breath.
I often struggle
With breath and spine.
But today was different.
Sitting forward
Breath I allowed
To take my body
More and more.
Different ways.
I became fascinated.
At the end of an hour
I sensed so many different rhythms,
Moving everywhere,
Cells,
Rhythms,
Heart, blood,
So much action
To sense
With breath rhythm
Integrating all other rhythms.

I placed stones from the beach
In a stone circle,
Lines through each stone,
Connecting us.
I offered each to take a stone,
Of remembrance.
My choice to let myself have the last one.
Disappointed at first,
It was my least favorite,
The one with the thinnest white line,
The one with the bumps.
Again, things are not what they first seem.
I fell in love with the one
With the bumps,
With the thin line
That has a strong inner core,
The one that is worn,
Smoothe in parts,
Bumpy in others.
I fell in love with my stone,
Self,
One among others,
All connected.

And this place
Of 5 days now.
Clean,
Clear,
Decrepit places
Transformed to
Living
In me,
Inhale, exhale, silence,
Waiting
For the next inhale
To come again,
And again…...

written during a breath retreat
taught by Juerg Roffler in Villa Pantoro, Italy, 2003

Allowing Me To Be

3/24/01
Margot Biestman

On my walk in the woods,
I stopped by a pink trillium.
It called to me,
In bloom,
Through the struggle of winter storms.
Nature allows.
Can I?
Within myself.

I stopped by a slug,
Lowly,
It called to me,
Nature allows
Without judgment,
Simply differentiation.
Can I?

I stopped by a burned out tree
Covered with moss,
Soft.
It called to me,
To envelope me
Can I?

I stopped by a stump,
Half-sawed,
Like a throne.
It called to me.
Shall I sit on this like a Queen?
Or shall I be the stump
That carries my queen?
Nature allows,
Connects all things.
Can I?

In my body of breath
I can.

I step out of the woods
Onto pavement
I stopped for a driver
Racing by.
I am annoyed.
Nature allows for disturbance
In its storms.
Can I?

In my body of breath
I can.

Can human beings
Allow themselves to be?
Allow others to be?
Can I?
In my body of breath
I can.

I think back to this morning.
The dirty dishwasher called to me
To clean it.
Can I?
I can.
Perry is urgent, alarmed,
"Don't put soap in there!
"You didn't, did you?
Soap will get all over, if you did."
Not allowing,
Not trusting
Me.
Himself.
Why do I assume
He's criticizing me?
He sounds that way,
Always something wrong.
Can I not allow him
To be as he is?
He says he's trying to take care of me
So I won't do what he did.
One time he put in soap and suds poured all over.
So he projected his woes onto me.
Can I allow him this,
Time and time again?
How many times must I say,
"Trust me,
Trust me, in my way,"
And allow myself to be.

Today I choose not to be with him.
I need to be alone.

I am.

I took my walk.
Can I now allow him to be,
Without my assuming?
Can I ask questions?
Can I discern
Where is he coming from?
And not assume
Criticism.
In my breath body,
I can.
Will I choose this way?
I can.