As I lay in bed this morning in that halfway state between sleeping and waking, listening to the orchestra of birdsong, I became aware of my breathing.  How many breaths do I take during the night while I sleep?  How fortunate I don't have to worry about it, that breathing is automatic.  Yet, when I want to change my breath, within limits, I can.  What a miracle breathing is.  The basis from which all life flows. 

How easy it is to take everything for granted.  I do.  All the time.  Yet life is a miracle.  The very act of being alive.  I know I've written of this before but it doesn't hurt to remind myself.  Wish I could remind others.   How lightly we view life.  How cheaply we toss it away or maim it beyond recognition.  (Unfortunately read and viewed images about a new drug called Krocodil which destroys flesh so that bone is exposed.  After using it one's life expectancy averages about three years). 

What were the users thinking?

What are we as a species thinking?  We seem hell bent on destroying ourselves and taking every living thing with us.  It's so sad and so unnecessary.  We've forgotten the miracle of the breath.  With it, everything is possible.  Without it.  Nothing.  The door closes so firmly that even the door no longer exists.