Breath of fresh air

This project recalls a thought that occupies my mind too often: with every branch representing a choice, I wonder whether the precise life path I’ve chosen is the right one, or if instead I missed my train and should have been headed elsewhere.  Are the right opportunities still ahead of me?

My concerns reveal selfishness and a lack of trust, and they prevent me from appreciating the myriad of opportunities that exist here and now.

With some watered-down acrylic paint in one end of the straw, I blew through the other end.  Sometimes the leftover paint would settle or run back down its rivulet.   

Studying occupational therapy, I wonder how I would continue to do art if I were to lose use of my arms—straw in mouth?

T

The Hebrew word for moving air, or breath, is "ruach."  Ruach is also the word for "spirit."  

Is it possible that there’s a Holy Breath who notices when we settle, moving us onward?

Who is less concerned  with the precise path we’re taking than the general direction we’re moving?

 

"Ruach" also means "life."