We believe in the power of positive messaging.
We believe in looking at what is possible.
And at what is apparently impossible and seeing a path to fulfilment, even when others might deny the possibility.
This is focused intent.
We breathe in a new future with ours.
You and I make we.
You were not born breathing smoke. You need not be addicted to pain.
When we are attentive to the nuanced beauty in the human spirit we can envision a different story for ourselves.
If we are stressed we may become the slave to appetites.
But where there is compassion, and wisdom, we cannot.
When we perceive ourselves as sick we need crutches and a victim mind state will tend to hijack our story.
But we are not victims.
We can celebrate the breath.
'Breathe in" and "inspire" are interchangable.
"Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the pass-ing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun."
Walt Whitman, Song of Myself. from Leaves of Grass