| 440,294,400 |
| Written by Eleni Pouliezou |
| Friday, 20 May 2011 06:30 |
|
As Prem Rawat once reminded me, an average lifespan lasts seventy years, a measly 25,550 days. Some of us have spent 75% of that already. Younger ones hopefully have a bit more. All of us, whoever we are, sleep almost half of that time and, all in all, it's tempting to bemoan the brevity of human life — the proverbial three score and ten of our earthly sojourn. When I want to remind myself of the preciousness of life, the urgency of living it well, I often think of it in terms of experienced summers (or winters, springs or autumns). If you're thirty years old, then you're only thirty summers old. If you're fifty you've passed fifty summers already (and of course fifty springs, fifty autumns and fifty winters). If you're seventy, then you've experienced 280 seasons in total. Just 280 seasons! That really isn't much, is it? For me, thinking in these terms gives me a reality check. Most of the things I worry about get thrown into the minutiae basket — along with worrying too much about time. That same kind gentleman who reminded me of the length of a lifespan taught me another way of looking at time. He showed me an inner and constant metronome — one that measures my life from the inside instead of by external (and arbitrary) cut-off points like years or seasons. Prem Rawat has shown me the metronome of my breath. There is nothing more intimate than that. And every time it comes, it measures my time. This is what Wikipedia says: Average respiratory rate reported in a healthy adult at rest is usually given as 12 breaths per minute (12⁄60 Hz) but estimates do vary between sources, e.g., 12–20 breaths per minute, 10–14, between 16–18, etc. So let’s say we have twelve beautiful breaths per minute: that's 720 breaths an hour. In a single day, we're given 17,280, and in seventy years, we're given a total of 440,294,400. When it's counted like that, our life isn't so measly after all, is it? When I embrace each breath — not by counting it, but by feeling it — it fulfills me. When I acknowledge it in that fundamental way, the measurement of time — and my entire experience of life — is transformed. When I count by what is real, with that metronome that is uniquely mine, I find an opportunity that surpasses imagination. I find I have been blessed with a lifespan of momentous proportions, one which is vastly generous. So I try to feel as many of my breaths as I can and know that I have millions more of them to enjoy — after all, a life judged by its days is small, but a life judged by its breaths is more than plentiful. Illustration by Sara Shaffer. |

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