Spirit Breath

A realization I had about the connection between breath, life, death, love, and intimacy. All things which obviously are related when explained so simply, but the following was significant for me..

It had only been a month since Cy's death when {----} came back into the picture. I was lonely; I emailed him. I was very forward, which he responded to positively, being the hedonistic type. He was impulsive and primitive in an odd sort of way that was very endearing. Refusing him was near impossible for me, and I knew the feeling was mutual. 

"...If you ever wanna just call me over, I'm game for that. Probably the worst idea ever," read his email.

Within two weeks he was calling me his lady again.

We began exploration of one another's necks during intimacy. Squeezing of the necks, more specifically. I found it acceptable only because of the loving way he held my body, one hand supporting my lower back and the other beside my head. I let my cheek fall into his palm while his thumb fondled my mouth. My saliva dampened his skin and his grasp would slowly move down to find its place halfway around my neck. 

There are two very important deep breaths that I took during the partaking of the Spirit Molecule.* The first, being the initial inhalation, was the deepest breath I have ever taken. My lungs inflated so willingly and without issue that when I began my ascent, the numbing sensation that overcame my spinal cord dropped my jaw and relaxed my throat and mouth, which incidentally allowed me to salivate uncontrollably. After diving upwards into the truest form of human experience which existed under my eyelids and above and below my throat and stomach chakras, somehow my ego was able to remind me of the value of breathing. Through an experience which has been described as every hallucinogen pushed onto the head of a pin, my whole body pulled air into my chest and white light into my stomach, which sent more numbing, quivering, vibrating relaxants to my temples and behind my eyes. My lips wet and my fingers trembling beside my body, it was like inhaling for the first time. 

His grip tightened and while he flooded into me like water poured into a chalice, a new association formed immediately in my brain regarding the potential between a trusted lover and the pleasure of oxygen deprivation. His brown eyed stare looked back and forth to each one of my hazel eyes, his dark, thick brows raised and expressing a look of deep regard and certainty. Without the exchange of words he knew when to pull away, and like the second breath drawn while being one with the spirit molecule, I ascended again and gasped for an incomparable encounter with air.

Such an explosion of bliss and relief are obtained by some people in dangerous ways. 

Some called it an accident, some called it suicide. Only a handful of us were more than confident that we carried the truth, simply because we were the only ones he really cared to reveal it to. It wasn't necessary to verbally agree on the matter. All it took was an exchange of gazes. 

I had been having an odd day when Kate called me. It was May the 3rd, and the moment I woke up, I had an inkling that I had been forgetting something. Throughout the day it bothered me until I finally thought to text Cy. With no responses, I called. Nothing. I was slightly worried but it wasn't until later that I realized how much I had been ignoring my gut instinct" an instinct so terrifying and unfamiliar that my protective ego had immediately hid it from my conscience. 

Luckily, or maybe unluckily, I had been with some friends in line to get into a show at Holocene. Laura and I had finished locking up our bikes when my pocket began to vibrate. 

Kate barely had to say a word and I knew what had happened. 

"Remy found him."

Remy was Cy's roommate's dog.

I don't think there will ever be a perfect time to revisit this memory and recreate it in words. I might as well describe it now, because oddly enough, I actually want to remember the pain.

It is terrifying to realize some days that I barely remember what it was like to wake up to him in the middle of the night. My old apartment had beautiful bay windows which let the moonlight crack through the blinds. I always woke up between three and four in the morning, when the haunting rays illuminated the blue aura outline of his sleeping body.

I always admired his skin, so perfect and freckled on the backs of his shoulders from all those hours spent biking shirtless in the sun. From behind his arms and neck looked so strong, so toned, as if the vitality inside him was too much for his physical body to maintain. He was bursting at the seams with a unique tenacity that many found very intimidating. 

Sometimes it is a pain so deep that if I attempt to even just brush the surface, I am so terrified of what I may find that I immediately fall backward and into my reflective reality. Other times it is easy to fall into the despair of loss.

But the initial news of his passing was of course surreal to say the least. And although it was painful, the thing that scared me the most was how much more pain I knew I was going to experience. After hearing, "He's gone, Lydia. I don't know... He's definitely gone," my first thoughts were, s**t, I have to go to work tomorrow. I still have to pay my bills. I have to go home tonight. I have to find a way to go to sleep, a way to wake up... I still have to eat and be a human.

It didn't even occur to me to ask how it had happened. All Kate knew was that it was suicide... supposedly. A full ten minutes passed, collapsed on the street corner on my hands and knees, screaming, trembling, weeping in a way that almost felt forced, while Lauren sat beside me and rubbed my knees and my back. I had never lost anyone before, and as my thoughts progressed, I realized that all of the movies and stories were right. My words ran circles in my head" It's my fault, I knew he was going to die, I manifested it last year one day while biking home... He didn't even tell me anything was wrong. What was wrong? Everything had been going really well. We were hanging out again, he seemed happy, and he wasn't broke... I even spent time helping him with his resume the last time we hung out. What did he not tell me? 

" will call his dad. The ambulance is going to get him," read her next text message.

"Do you know what happened?" I asked.

"He hung himself in the closet."

"I am really sorry that you had to be there." I paused and after a small moment of panic, I asked, "You're sure he's gone?"

"I'm sorry, Lydia."

"I'm sorry too." 

Author's Note

I understand this is very personal. Obviously I have posted it here so I have attempted to change names, etc. But I do not believe in censoring truth, beauty, and things that can be scary. So be warned.
Also, (for those of you who know Cyan Wunderlich), know that I have not changed his name very much because I know that he would probably encourage me to stick as close to truth as possible. And if you know him, I hope that you would agree.