“Breath Beads” – Made for me by my friend Amy Williams
My friend Amy gave me these beads when we had breakfast together a couple of days ago. She didn’t call them “prayer beads”; she mentioned using them for deep breathing and centering. So, I’m calling them “Breath Beads.” I counted them. There are 24 on the strand, not including the face bead, which doesn’t have a mouth . . . to remind me to stay silent once in a while (I made up that last bit, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?).
This morning I decided to observe the process of using the beads. I thought I might slip into a nice meditative state. Instead, I noticed my typical pattern with anything new. I immediately slipped into a nice analytical state.
I hadn’t finished my first, supposed-to-be cleansing breath when my mind hijacked the experience. “What’s the point of all this?” it demanded. Then it launched quickly into calculations: “Hmmm . . . 24 beads . . . an average of 5 seconds per breath . . . this is going to take about two minutes . . . maybe more, though, since I seem to be breathing a little more slowly than usual.”
Satisfied with the timing, it next began to notice the difference in the shapes of the beads. “This one seems too big and bulky for a peaceful process . . . this one is tiny. It could easily be missed, and that would throw off the timing. If I finish in under two minutes, I’ll know I missed one of these tiny beads. Oh, wait, I like this one; it’s got more texture than the others.” My eyes were closed, so color wasn’t part of this particular analysis. My mind did, however, begin searching for a pattern, and finding none, it went straight to judgment: “A pattern would be better . . . then I would know how far along I was . . . I would know which bead was coming next. If it were more like a rosary, I think I would like it better. It would be more predictable.”
After two minutes of this, I completed my first Breath Bead Experience. And now my mind feels satisfied that it sort of knows what to expect next time. Maybe it will settle down and let me notice more than a single breath when I try it again tomorrow morning.
Silly me to expect the first time to be anything but a Left Brained Bonanza. Oh, how well I know that little scientific mathematician inside me who is ever busy making sense of the world around her. Analyze to your heart’s content, my dear. Trust me, though, when I tell you there is joy in not knowing, in simply resting in the perfection of experiences that can be neither measured nor controlled.
I know . . . I know. It makes no sense! But that’s the point. It’s not supposed to. Hey, I have an idea. What if you observe me tomorrow while I breathe, and you can analyze it all you want after the two minutes have passed. Shall we give it try?
Coach Barbie Dallmann 