I swear my father, frail and relaxed in an ICU hospital bed, was practicing breathwork before he left his body in 2017. It was the same style of breathing I am focusing on now as I train with Breathing Space to become a certified breathworks facilitator – mouth wide open, inhales pulling in precious air and exhales released with a sigh, his whole body involved in the act of breathing – even if assisted. His breathing continued this way for the longest minutes I had ever experienced well after life-support was removed.
Have you ever witnessed a human being’s final breath? That moment of ultimate release – the letting go of a life? It moved me deeply. I sensed a delicate breeze – the quiet readiness to move on, a freedom from the confines of a weary body. The experience inspired me to write a poem I titled Perfectly Unfinished, later published in Third Lane Magazine, an Indian publication that resonated with my father’s heritage and the poignancy of his passing.
In 2021, while visiting Costa Rica, I embarked on a transformative breathwork journey that I believe was guided by my father‘s spirit. Through this experience, I grasped – not merely intellectually, but in the very core of my being – how he departed from his physical form. All that remained was breath and breath-taking light.
I’ve deleted and rewritten paragraphs of this article several times describing the pulling sensation between my eyebrows, the blinding brightness of that light and the innate awareness that it is not my time to enter this loving passage – that is more life in store for me to be breathed. But really all of these words don’t seem to do the experience justice. And sometimes describing something profound almost feels contracted – as if it’s being packaged up in a tiny box rather than given room to breathe, to move freely through and around me.
Each of us has a unique human experience that influences our breathwork journeys, should we choose to undertake them. It is my heartfelt prayer that we all have the opportunity to explore such journeys in our lifetimes. One thing is clear: These are not just isolated experiences; they hold transformative potential if we trust their wisdom and keep them close to our hearts.
This, my first incredible breathwork journey, reshaped my relationship to aging and ignited my quest to explore lucid dreaming. The connection between lucid dreaming and death is well-established; over a thousand years ago, Tibetan Buddhists developed an entire science around awakening in dreams to prepare for death. They believed that if lucid dreaming was practiced enough, one could remain conscious at the moment of death and navigate the transition with awareness, evolving into the next phase of the soul’s journey.
I will forever cherish that breathwork journey with my father and the renewed perspective it granted me on life and death. It illuminated the boundless light and love awaiting us, and the freedom that comes from releasing fears of impermanence. The breath truly does guide us to let go. And to experience this before our final breath is indeed a profound grace.
As I facilitate and observe the conscious connected breathwork journeys of others, I am increasingly aware of how this practice reveals what we need to release, helping us lighten our burdens. With each session, as old stories fade, we emerge more liberated.
Zila (pronounced Z-ee-la)
To find out more about Zila, take a look at her profile in Practitioners Corner
