This breath is for the journey. The journey of three women, three generations, on a mission to find a messiah, a cure, a miracle, a healing.

This breath is for the journey: the journey that might take us to the moon and back, or leave us stranded, exploding among star-stuff. The pain pulses and throbs inside of me. It speaks with an echo, and it refuses to be left unheard. It dances with pizzazz; it is an exhibitionist-at-heart. Today its footsteps are more like slithering, undulating, as it snakes around my organs and through the field that is my ribcage.

This breath is for the journey: the journey that is one-hundred-and-eight prayers, circling around my cells, humming the lifesong of the Sweet Goddess, loving singing dancing praying praying praying. I pay homage to the Great Mother, and I pay homage to Father Sky, and I open my heart, spill the core of me before their altars, body fluid with prostrations. Supplications for the journey, for the breath that feeds me, for the G-d that breathes me.

This breath is for the journey and it’s malleable, fiery, full of grace.

This breath is for the journey, and it’s my faith embodied, a silken scarf wrapped around my precious precious heart. There are blessings for the taking, and there are miracles to be made. We rise and we rinse, we spin through our cycles, we clash under the sunshine and melt in the moonlight.

This breath is for the journey. The journey that is happening. The journey that is pleading, is begging, is exasperating. The journey of my bloodline. The journey of my blood.

This breath is for the journey, and it is fresh, perfect, whole.

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