Better to become truly alive.

Thursday morning.  I feel apprehensive. Anxious. Now I have to overcome my forebodings. By talking to myself. Becoming my own psychotherapist.  Finding reason to be optimistic. To be happy. Just being alive. Maybe I should lie down. And try to quell my anxiety. By resting. Pretending I'm in a Swiss sanitarium. Being treated. Kindly. Soothingly. Now an interruption. A phone call. From the physical therapist. Prescribed by my doctor. For the kind of exercise that relieves stress. I have an appointment. For 2:30 p.m. Monday. With a therapist named Sol.  He has the potential. To do more good. Than a psychotherapist. I will move about.  Today. Slowly. Methodically. And seek a rhythm to my movements. A balance. Between rest. And physical activity. Relief for my crazy mind. Through physical movement. A reminder.  That I am alive and conscious and physical. Far more physical than spiritual. I am solid. Rock core physical. That should be my salvation. My mission. To embrace my physicality. And the physical life all around me. My two lovely cats. Loverboy. Snowflake. They are here to console me. To guide me. Reminders of the physical nature of life. For the moment. Now I am practicing the art of breathing. Breathing life. Into my being. I'm writing this longhand. Because it is the physical way. Writing. More accurately, scribbling. But more importantly, breathing. Breathing. Nothing more physical than that. The breath of life. Gives me consciousness. The ability to feel life's endearing pulse beat. The grandeur of life. I'm off now. To practice more breathing. To practice being alive. At One with the life force. Only that will put me at peace. With myself. With my surroundings. With everything. Bringing me precious moments. To be savored. For a long, long time. This is what I deserve. What everyone deserves. Yes,  no need for all this apprehension/anxiety. It makes absolutely no sense. Better to become truly alive. --Jim Broede