listening to Bach's unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major: Courante

i love hearing the breath of the cellist, and even if you can't hear the breathing you still know exactly when they breathe

this is one of the two times i've wanted to cry this week. just at how beautiful the breath between notes is.

the other time was in yoga, when c. talked about urgency, about how we have to fight our tendency when living in this city to feel like everything is urgent. i held my breath hoping that no one would see my tears, and he said, "the best yogi is the one who moves the most air" so i let go of the air inside my lungs.

oh, and the third time i had forgotten about was when Florence talked about her roots in Texas, and how right when she steps off the plane "the air in Texas smells like my childhood."


so everything i want to cry about has to do with air