I got my shot yesterday, the first of two shots of a vaccine that will apparently protect me from catching and/or spreading the COVID-19 coronavirus.

I consider myself fortunate to receive a shot as early as I have. I really (and fearfully) wasn’t expecting to begin the process until at least September (according to initial government reports), so when I was told I was now eligible, I jumped at the opportunity.

The fact there are vaccines for this virus has been the bright spot of this past year. The deadly COVID-19 will continue to spread until a large chunk of the population has been vaccinated. It will take time.

I will, apparently, receive the second shot required in 12 to 16 weeks. That’s a lot of time. And there is a lot going on with this virus. There is so much information, and misinformation, spreading as fast as COVID-19 itself. It is a fear that has been with us for more than one year.

The case count in Ontario has not flattened anywhere near amount that was (or is) expected, and the virus itself continues to mutate. In fact, medical officials here are talking about a third wave as a certainty and no longer a theory.

Of course I am concerned.

I live in the Canadian province, and in the city, that has the highest number of cases, the highest rates of transmission, and the highest death count. As well, there continues to be a helluva lot of chatter about who should receive the vaccine, or which vaccine they should receive, and how far apart they should receive it.

A lot of numbers have been bandied about but right now, the number I am focused on is when I will receive shot number two.

I know that by the time I receive my second dose, millions of other people will have received not only their first, but also a second shot. Efforts to get more and more people vaccinated have been increasing at a steady pace (finally).

Then, maybe, we can all get back to living life a little closer to normal.

Maybe.

A breath is not something we have to think about. You’ve been breathing as long as you’ve been living. It’s quite organic. And necessary. You either do, or you don’t.

Through the day your breath is constant (as it is through the night), but for the sake of sleep and in the interest of dreams, now is a time for a think about how we breathe.

In yoga terms, this is your prana, and in so many ways your sleep is like a long savasana (corpse pose). The body is still and you set your intentions for what lies ahead. The first breaths of this period should guide you to your dreams.

Eyes shut, arms and legs fully extended in a comfortable, non-static position, breathe in deeply, filling your lungs with fresh night air and hold it in for four to six seconds. Then release, a full exhale. Let out more air than you take in, and with that exhale, release any nervous energy, negative thoughts, and compromising emotions. Empty your lungs entirely. Pause. Then inhale again; this time deeper, more, fully expanding your lungs, and another pause. Exhale.

This is not how you will breathe through the night, but the pattern should be repeated several times. It is fully conscious breathing, a complete inhale and full exhale, five to 10 times, or more. You will feel what works for you, and you will feel it fully.

These should be the final steps in ridding yourself of the day. Think of this as filling a paper bag with the stray thoughts. No, it’s not hyperventilating, but you can visualize, if you must, a balloon increasing in size. Then release.

Let everything out to make room for what will arrive through the night.

Your next set of breaths is still focused, but not nearly as deep. Chose a mental focal point, as simple as a colour, to train the mind to one place. Increasing the intensity of the colour as you inhale, deflating to the lightest shade possible on the exhale. Repeat, steadily, setting a rhythm from light to vivid, brightness to dark, and back again.

In a short time after a precise, pre-sleep breathing regime your body will begin to do what comes naturally. Your pulse will lessen, your blood pressure will drop, each cell of the body will react to this restful state. Slowly you will succumb to this drowsiness. Let everything go. Allow each part of your body to slacken; your jaw will drop, eyes slip further back in the sockets, and the muscles release any tension. You’ll feel the meat falling off the bone.

The lungs will continue to fill, but the chest will not rise and fall, as you enter a halcyonic state. The brain appreciates the dose of fresh oxygen, free of negative ions, and full of purpose.

You may remain in this neutral, seemingly motionless stage, or you may slip into the sleeping position that has served you well in the past. Stillness. The mind will remain active through several documented sleep stages, including REM, where the dreams (the major ones any way) mainly take place.

Like your breath, dreams can become a life force that pulls you through the day. Research indicates the mind is more active during the nocturnal state. By setting yourself up with a mindful breathing practice, without all the decisions and diplomacy that have dogged you through the day, you are better able to rejuvenate the body, activate the brain, and then wake up to the new day and do it all again.

    deep breath
    deep sleep
    deep thoughts
    deep peace

© 2017 j.g. lewis

Has it been that long?
It seems much longer.
A year now, give or take, in which
personal protection is self-preservation.

Stay apart.

Wear a mask.

Wash your hands.

All attempts we share with others who care
about others, as we do. It’s as simple as that
in this complex world of
doubt and shame.

Again and again.

Only the ignorant don’t understand.

The noise won’t be silenced; the news is not fake,
one year now of give and take.

And isolation.

Or loss.

Still, there remains a present danger
for family, friends, lovers and strangers.

It is a numbers game, death toll rises,
now, it has been a year since
we’ve lived this crisis.

unforeseen shard of fuchsia,
fibril against the monotony
of the day.
fleeting
before the ashen dome
shuts
for the night.
just enough to satisfy, a
need for brighter landscapes.
traces of optimism,
or hope,
just enough.

interior lights pressed into action,
exhaust spews into the damp chill
of the city.
Swiftly
as night falls, so too the
mercury.
last gasp of winter.
seasons end, another begins, a
need for warmth.
we seek optimism.
or just
enough hope.

cold dark thoughts relegated to
the intricate concealed wrinkles
of the mind.
Painfully
we accept the totality of our loses
hopefully
forging new perceptions.
new thoughts, and language, a
stronger need.
brittle optimism
may be
enough now.

time changes, we too, in increments.
the night inevitably lost to dreams
of serious moonlight.
quietly.
did we not notice, do we not
care?
one less hour. one step
closer, the prelude, a
knowing unknown.
perhaps warmth,
optimism, or
just enough hope.

© 2015 j.g. lewis

My Grandfather always wore a tie.
   Sadly, that is my strongest memory of my father’s father.
   Yes, I always noticed a strong resemblance with his son, but even as a young child I saw my grandpa mostly as old. To me, then, that was all he could be.
   As the middle child of the youngest born on each of my parent’s side of my family tree I only remember my grandparents as old. Even then I only knew my father’s parents, my mother’s having already passed on.
   My Grandma and Grandpa were both in their seventies when I was born in ‘60s, and as I grew older, so too did they. It’s natural, yes, but now I wish I had a greater understanding of the concept of aging when I was younger. Perhaps you don’t take this into account until you yourself grow older (as I did… or as I am).
   I would have liked to know my Grandpa more than I did. I sense I would have enjoyed being closer.
   We lived in different cities. As a family we would visit regularly but never was there enough time for a bond to develop. I guess, in my youth, I didn’t know how to make that happen.
   Wallace Lewis has been on my mind a lot lately. I was gifted a detailed book of photographs and memories by a cousin who had the benefit of knowing my grandparents more closely than I. She recalls, and lovingly writes about, a grandpa who picked her up from school for weekend visits, or time spent at a family cottage I never visited. She remembers spending time in their homes.
   My cousin can speak freely of her teenage years and my grandparent’s involvement in them. Grandpa died when I was a teenager.
   I so appreciate the chance to see and read of the lives I never knew, and the history she researched going back to his home in England before coming to Canada and settling on the prairies. My version of this family history was nothing but incomplete and mostly that of juvenile thought.
   Grandpa was an engineer for the Canadian National Railway (CNR). It’s funny, I remember being told he was an engineer for the railroad when I was a kid, and I had that image of pinstriped overalls, steam engines and the riding the rails. It was much later I learned he was the type of engineer who designed bridges. I smiled when I saw the picture in this book of him doing a field inspection, and there was the ever-present necktie.
   Grandpa was a proper man; well mannered and well dressed. My cousin comments that he was a “natty” dresser. He wore a suit well, and I can see where my father got his taste in clothes. Grandpa always carried an air of respect. Even as an older man he wore that tie, even as I remember his final days in the retirement home.
   After retirement from the CNR he worked in the university’s faculty of engineering. The student’s then called him “Gramps”.
   I don’t think I ever used that term of endearment.
   As I looked through the book, making notes of addresses and dates, and names, I began to feel a greater understanding of my family. There were many questions I had, and thought I would one day have the opportunity to ask my father.
   Yet I didn’t. I took little snippets of family information as it was offered but didn’t need to know much more than I did when I was younger. By the time I realized I wanted to know more, my father was old and then not there.
   Maybe it was a generational thing, or maybe you don’t care about these things until you are older. Youth cares little of history or, in naïveté, never realizes its importance. It was that way for me.
   I would have liked to know more of my Grandpa.
   I also sense, sometimes, I would liked to have known my Grandpa’s son more than I did. My father and I were close. I just wished we had been closer. I recognized this even before he passed on. I just didn’t do enough early enough to close the gap before it was no longer possible.
   This book has allowed me to know more, and settled many curiosities I had about time and timeline. My family tree is no longer as incomplete as it once was. I now have more of a visual history sewn together by a cousin who knew the details well, and took the time to share a family connection.
I am blessed.