Isn’t life more than that? Doesn’t existence itself rise above all the things that
happen—the goods, the bads, the rights, the wrongs, the judgments? Isn’t it a
kindness to be here? Isn’t this a special moment—this moment called being alive?
How aware am I of it? How much do I recognize it?
What am I concerned about today? Am I the least bit concerned about something
that is finer than the finest hair—something that cannot be measured in width,
height, or weight and that is the only difference between me and that headstone?
Do you know what it is? It’s the breath that comes in and out of me.
You cannot take a picture of it. You cannot paint it. You cannot make a statue of it.
You cannot give it, buy it, trade it, or sell it. And it makes all the difference between
you and your headstone. Because breath comes, you’re intelligent. Because it comes,
you are Mr. So-and-So, Mrs. So-and-So, Miss So-and-So, Dr. So-and-So, Captain
So-and-So, Professor So-and-So. And thanks to this gift of breath, you have the
capability to understand, to question, to reason, to observe, and to learn.
—Prem Rawat
