“What are you doing at this very moment?” You will probably respond, “I’m writing, I’m sitting, I’m listening to you.” In reality, you don’t realize that you are simply breathing. So I want to tell you a story.
It all starts from the Latin verb spirare, which by itself means ‘to blow, to exhale.’ Introducing the prefix re- gives completeness to the vital repetition of breath. In fact, the very Latin spirare also meant our ‘to breathe,’ but re- acts as a keystone: breath is always a single blowing, either out or in, but it is the alternating duration between wave and backwash that describes it completely, just as you imagine the sea. Scientifically, breathing is nothing more than the alternating respiratory movements that renew the air in the lungs. It has a depth, a rhythm, a shape, and a frequency. Listening beyond the mere medical definition opens up wonderful figurative meanings. The ones of relief and pause stand out: in the agitation of action, the breath shortens and rushes, following a turbulent mind, while in the pause, breath takes its space back, expands the chest, and calms the chaos; similarly, the oppression of anxiety and anguish etymologically speak of gasping, of struggling, of a tightness we immediately relate to a weight on the breath: we understand how natural it is to perceive the regained possibility of breath as a relief. Listening a bit further, breath takes on the meaning of capacity, extension, cultural and ideological breadth. The wide breath, which expands the chest and invites you to raise your arms, which makes you feel large and present, and prepares a strong voice in a sense of powerful and capable freedom. Breath supports life at its base. It gives you a voice, gifts you melodies, and is the harmonious architecture of life.
Valentina Brini 
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