Living With Asthma

I am a asthma sufferer. It lives within me. The ghost comes with a wheezing, constricts my breath inopportunely at a random odd hour of the night while I am sleeping, does its damage. And so while I drag myself out of bed, its pain brings me to a threshold barely able to think of anything else. The solace of early morning quiet and the rest of the sleepy world for a second set me furious with envy that yet another interruption comes my way, and I am so ill prepared. Well, this has been my thing for years. If it has a personality, perhaps its only benevolence is that it pushes me to write.

mind associates
constricted breath
with panic
it is the same with
the anxiety ridden
taking in a movie
when the
state is prolonged
and I am
gasping
for oxygen
like a fiend
I’m kicking over
furniture
to do so

panic
to lock up
the chest
while
Buddhist
philosophy
and Tantra
and bantra
and santra
Vedanta
all the
yogic podcasts
steer toward
expansive
cartoonish
inhale and exhales—
at first
blush you’re wondering
if they’re not
overdoing it
just a bit

then
you suffer asthma
and you know

you know better

breathing
is where
it’s at

And so coffee’s negative effects outweigh the good, for me, caffeine being the main ingredient. ‘Cuz while asthma and I have embraced each other over the years, I don’t see things getting any better without conscious attempts to improve my health with exercise and mindful intake. Although coffee does momentarily help with asthma, in the long run, I doubt it’s worth it. My heart would probably agree.

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