A Pause Before the Next Move
Just returned home from the market—not just with fresh chicken and some chap recycled veggies, but with the warmth of faces I know, the familiar rhythm of teasing and short exchanges that stitch a kind of belonging into the day. I love these small encounters. Folks know me as their regular, slightly out-of-sync customer, and I wear that label with affection.
I made a stop by the old corner of Sungai Pinang, at the Selera Wawasan Restaurant, right where Jalan Sungei meets Sungai Pinang Road. That’s not just a random eatery—it was once my grandmother’s house, handed down to my aunt, Mak Timah Bidan. There, I sat with my cousin, whom I call Mak Cak, and even made a quick call to my sister in Terengganu so they could share a warm moment. Sweet-sour memories linger in those walls, like the lingering aroma of sambal tumis and rainy afternoons from long ago.
Then came the return home—and with it, the familiar racing breath. My body felt like it was under siege. Just from living. Just from moving through the layers of the day. I noticed how much effort I was putting into breathing—fast, shallow, through the mouth. That moment struck me: someone once said, “the less you breathe, the better,” and for a flicker, I understood. I was over-breathing life, pushing against it, not flowing with it.
So I paused. I sat and entered zikr, letting the mind settle like silt in water. That’s when I felt the pain again—center of the chest. Not unbearable, but present. It shows up when there’s exertion, or when something outside jerks me back into doing. I’ve felt it for a while now. Maybe it’s physical—blockages, the usual aging heart. Maybe it’s energetic—residue from all I’ve lived and carried. Probably both. I haven’t been to a doctor in a long while. Some might say I don’t take my health seriously. But inside, I try—Tai Chi, Yoga, Zazen. I heal my heart not just with medicine, but with breath and intention.
Still, I wonder if that’s enough.
I’m not aiming to be like Tun Dr. Mahathir, living to a grand old age. I respect his discipline, but longevity has never been my goal. Depth, not duration. I just want to be well enough to walk a few more paths, teach a few more souls, and make peace with the rest.
So here’s what I’ve learned, and what helps me pause:
1. The Healing Pause Breath
Inhale through the nose for 4 counts.
Hold gently for 2.
Exhale slowly through the mouth for 6 to 8 counts, like a sigh.
Rest again for 2 before repeating.
Do this for 5–10 rounds. It slows the system, like a hand on the shoulder of a panicked child.
2. Breathing Light Into the Heart
Hands over the chest, eyes closed.
As you breathe in, imagine soft light—white, gold—entering your heart.
As you exhale, let it dissolve tension, darkness, pressure.
Repeat softly with a zikr like Ya Shafi (O Healer) or Ya Latif (O Gentle One).
3. Heart Listening (Zazen Style)
Sit still, spine upright.
Place attention on the chest.
Ask silently: “What are you trying to tell me?”
Listen, not with thoughts but with presence. Let what arises come and go.
These aren’t magic fixes. They’re just offerings to the self, reminders that we are not machines, not meant to run endlessly. We are breathers. Pausers. Beings.
If you, like me, are feeling that ache in your chest—not just physical but emotional, existential—try these out. Listen. Respond, but don’t rush. The body remembers what the mind forgets. And in that still, small space between breaths, sometimes healing begins.
Subhanallah walhamdulillah, laillahaillalah, hu Allah, huAkhbar
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