Inspiration is and then it isn’t.  Inspire–to breathe in, to be filled with spirit and air and life.  This is, of course, the state of humans until they die.  They–we–stop breathing.  The spirit moves on somehow somewhere, the body wears out or just doesn’t breathe any more.

There are theories that we know and even determine when and where we are to expire–the breath leaves us.  Other stories say it is all a bad dream here in the body.  Still more philosophies just ignore the “blackness” of the non-breathing arena.

I believe in miracles and heaven and fun things and big parties with old friends and family.  It just makes life a bit more fun and less heavy–like I have to achieve something for a good report card.

But what about life.  And what about those gray days when breathing is just breathing.  I pull the air into my chest and feel myself in the center of the ancient tree.  I am rooted and I stretch.