Channels, A Ghost Story in Five Parts, Part Five: Going Home

We’ve reached the conclusion of our story.  I hope you enjoyed it.  There is always a way to go home.

Part Five: Going Home

“Alight now” said Piano, dragging out the “all” with his sustain pedal, “get ready, she’s coming.  I feel her footsteps.  Remember.  Just sit down next to her and listen.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” asked Ghost Boy.

“Shhh,” said Tabby, “it will.”

Piano looked at Tabby. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Tabby smiled.

“A disturbing trend,” laughed Piano, “people finishing each other’s sentences.  But I suppose it’s only fitting for the kind of work we do here.”


And then the Lady entered the room.  Ghost Boy stood stock-still, looking at Floor.  He slowly raised his head only to see her dark, wide eyes staring at him lovingly.  He tried to place where he had seen her before.  Her eyes looked so familiar.

The Lady walked over to the Piano and sat down.  She patted the bench.  Ghost Boy gasped out a laugh and sat down next to her.  She touched his hand (how can this be?) and then ruffled his hair, laughing softly.  “You touched me,” he said.  “And you me,” she replied.

“I know you from somewhere.”

“I am your sister,” she said, and then she placed two pieces of silver candy into his hand.  “Give these to Mother Moon,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

And before he could answer, before he could respond, she began to play. 

She directed every ounce of her energy to the Piano.  Spirits spiraled instantaneously towards her and from her, dazzling as a snow storm.  Music flooded the room.  The air became Music itself.  Time and space became Music.  And somewhere in the Atlantic, a manta ray leapt from the churning water like a black curtain.  Antelopes sprang straight up with delight, and then ran across the field.  Treasure boxes all over the world suddenly opened and memories, and passageways, secrets, and lost, sunken ships, all were found.  Prisons of fears fell open and were gone.

Ghost Boy listened.  He no longer thought about chords and fevers.  His thoughts were chords, and he felt mysterious stirrings within him.  He stared at the Lady, the sister he never knew.  She had their Mother’s eyes.  He loved her with a love so strong he felt he would burst.  He loved her for being his sister.  He loved her for doing what she did.  She had decided to stay and help others, like him, go home.  He felt a little ashamed that he was choosing to go home, as if maybe he should stay and help her help others.  And as he thought these things she shook her head slowly side to side.  “We all have our work,” she said, “this is mine.  Yours is to help others remember.  You helped me remember.”

Then the Piano began trembling, and the room resounded like a bell of clear brass the size of a house.  Suddenly Ceiling lifted and spun gracefully aside.  Walls parted.  Lamp dimmed in deference to the Moonlight spilling into the opening space.  Spider quickly found a place in a rhododendron bush and watched from the shadows.  Floor sank ever so gently.  Tabby hopped up onto the Lady’s lap.  She laughed and cried at the same time.  And the Ghost Boy rose on the river of music, elevating passed the room, turning like a toy on a music box.  He stood and stretched his arms into the night.  The night was life, infused with music.  It was holy and it was moving, and it was joyful.  As Ghost Boy watched the tree tops, and the rooftops, and the city and the world spin below him and away, he laughed out loud.  His fingers brushed though the fields of stars.  His sister wept and laughed, showering Piano with tears.  She was a fountain, a truth, a promise, a vow.  Even Piano cried.  His tears wove a silver liquidity into the music.  Mother Moon looked down and saw her boy rising on the stream of music, and she wept and laughed.  Melodies burst like fireworks into the night as he ascended higher and higher.  Lightening and snow, thunder and sparks, whirled around him.  Everything danced and rejoiced as the Lady played and played.  And as she played, assured and limitless, the Ghost Boy rose, deeper and deeper, into the Light. 

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Channels, A Ghost Story in Five Parts, Part Four

Part Four

Silence couldn’t help himself he rushed into the room pretending to dust things.  Tabby hissed him out.

“But if you’re from the moon,” said Aloe, “how’d you end up here?  On earth I mean?”

“I wanted to come,” he said, “I wanted to come and Mother said I could.”

“Mother?” asked Aloe.

“His Mother’s the Moon,” said the Lady. “Oops…I should have let you answer that.  Sorry.”

Ghost Boy smiled.

“But what about your…your… earth mother?” asked the Lamp.

“She’s not my real mother.  She’s my guardian angel that Mother gave to me to help me on my journey. But then, when I died…”  He trailed off and Silence stepped in and put his arm around him.

“Not yet,” said Tabby, “let him finish.”  Silence grunted and stepped away.

“I was nine years old when I caught a fever and died.  I didn’t mean too.  Both mothers were sad.  You see, when I died, the chord that connected me with this world was cut, and when that chord was cut, I got separated from my guardian angel mother…I couldn’t find her, and I didn’t know how to get back to Mother Moon…so… so…I’ve been wandering the streets ever since.”

Ghost Boy couldn’t go on.  Silence stood next to him like a sentinel.  He cast a grave look of intensity and eternity around the room.  No one dared try and break him this time, not even Tabby. 

Tears were falling down Ghost Boy’s face.  Tabby locked eyes with Silence.  Silence wouldn’t budge.  “It’s alright,” Tabby thought to Silence, “The Lady has him.”  Silence looked down at Ghost Boy and then reluctantly left the room.

“You’re crying,” said Spider.

“So?” sniffled Ghost Boy.

“Nothing.  It’s OK to cry.  I just didn’t know ghosts cried.”

“That’s about all we do,” said Ghost Boy.

“So are you ready?” said the Lady.


The Ghost Boy looked at her in the eyes for the first time.  His own eyes filled with tears.  “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” she said and the Ghost Boy could see she had tears in her eyes as well.

She got up and said the Piano, “Explain what’s going to happen, I need to get something.”  And she left the room. 

“You were right when you said a chord was cut the day you died,” began the Piano, “but there’s another chord that can never be cut.”

“Another chord?” said Ghost Boy

“The one connecting you and Mother Moon.”


“Listen.  Not all chords can be cut, but some can be lost or forgotten, or worse–ignored.  Deep inside you know this.  A chord of true music, like the love between a parent and child, echoes and travels forever and ever and ever–”    

“Amen, added the Ceiling.”

“Amen,” echoed the Lamp.

“I don’t remember forgetting any chord,” said the Ghost Boy.

“Nobody does until they hear it again.  All the sudden they remember.  It sounds familiar and then they either pursue the chord or let it go by.  You recognized something familiar in the music the Lady channeled and you chose to pursue it or else you wouldn’t have come.”

“What do I do now?”

“Music is like Light and Love” said the Piano, “it’s for sharing.  When you died you assumed you had nothing left to share, so you became a ghost.  But you do have something to share.”


“What do I have to share?”

“You listen child, that is your gift.  You are a good listener.  Most dead people, like most living people, rarely actually listen.  The dead are always crying out to live again.  Living people do this to, by the way–always clambering for someday.  But you listen, and when you listen, you are sharing yourself.  You are giving the Lady and me a great gift.”

“So what do I do?  Just listen?”


“Exactly,” said the Piano, “you listened when you first heard Our Lady’s music and wondered where it was coming from and where it would lead you.  And here you are.  When she comes back to play, just listen and gradually begin to wonder where the music will lead.  Imagine your Mother Moon and just listen.  The music will do the work.  You listen.” 


Ghost Boy was crying again.  He wanted to hug the Piano, but how do you hug a piano?  He tried.  He bent over and grasped as much of that old upright as he could.  He kissed it and more tears fell, trickling between the keys and right down into the Piano’s heart.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Channels, A Ghost Story in Five Parts: Part Three

In Part Two, the Ghost Boy is faced with the decision of going back to the Moon or staying on earth.  What does he decide?  Part Three has the answer.

Part Three

The next day, everyone shushed each other as they heard the Lady’s keys jingling, and the tumbler tumbling, and the door knob turning.  A chilly breeze swirled gold and red leaves into the room much to everyone’s delight as the Lady came in.

She plopped her keys on the sofa next to Tabby.  “You’ll be looking for those in the morning,” he said sniffing them.

She kicked off her shoes and filed through the mail as she walked into the kitchen. 

“She’s so thoughtful,” sighed Floor, “bare feet are so much more pleasant than heels.”

“I hope she doesn’t wait too long to play,” said Ceiling.

“I hope she turns my light on soon.  I’m getting chilly,” said Lamp.

“I wonder if the Ghost Boy will return,” said Aloe.

“He will,” said Tabby, “in fact, he’s coming right now.”

The Walls braced themselves.  It was such an interesting sensation when Ghost Boy passed through.

“Where’s the Lady?” asked Ghost Boy appearing in their midst.

“In the kitchen,” said Ceiling.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m a ceiling,” said Ceiling, “I see everything.”

Satisfied, the Ghost Boy turned and placed two little round pieces of silver on the Piano.

“What’re those?” asked Spider.

“Moon candy,” he said.

“Moon candy, where’d you get moon candy?”

“I’ve been saving them for years.  I never wanted to eat them because they were the last things I had that Mother Moon gave me.”

“Mother Moon?” said Spider.

“So you’re going home then?” interjected Tabby.

“Yes,” said Ghost Boy, “I’m going home.”

“We’re glad for you,” said the Lamp.

“Yes,” said the Spider.

“You’re a nice chap,” said the Aloe.

“Light on your feet,” smiled the Floor.

“And you tickle when you pass through,” said the Walls.

“Safe travels,” said the Ceiling.

“You look like you have a question child,” said Tabby, “what is it?”

“It’s just…I mean…how does it work?  How will her music take me home?”

That’s when the Piano finally spoke.  Everyone turned.  Other than the Lady, none of them had ever heard him speak before.

“First of all boy,” he said, “Our Lady is a channel.  The music comes through her, not from her.  It doesn’t even come from me.  We’re both channels.”  He paused, everyone was riveted, even Silence who had slipped into the room with only Tabby noticing.

“Why is everybody staring?” Piano asked, “I spoke, so what?  I’m not like you people who speak whenever they feel like it.  I listen.  Listeners make good channels.”

“Is that why Silence never touches you?” asked Aloe.

“Yes,” said Piano, “I may listen all the time, but my heart strings are always vibrating.  Every step the Lady takes—anywhere in the house, makes them shimmer.  When thunder rolls outside my heart feels it.  All sounds and movement, every emotion and thought, is heard and collected in my heart.  Eventually the Lady sits down and together we become one channel.  And all the things she’s collected and all the things I’ve collected, and all the things the world wants us to channel, come pouring out.”

“Will I die?” asked the Ghost Boy, “I mean die-die—for good this time?”

“Die?” exclaimed the Piano, “For heaven’s sake, and I mean that quite literally, no, of course not.  You’ll live.  The music will cover you and clean you and turn you and fill you and carry you and you will live and you will rest and you will wake and you will find yourself in your mother’s arms and you will be home.”

Just then, the Lady walked into the room and over to the Piano, dropping the letters on the table as she went.  She noticed at the two pieces of moon candy and, after a moment, she looked over at the Ghost Boy, and popped them into her mouth.  Ghost Boy smiled.  So did the Lady as the sweetness of the moon light shimmered through her.

Then she began to play.  And somewhere off the coast of Maine, a whale leapt from the sea, arching its slow, graceful turn as it splashed back into the waves.  A black bear in the Adirondacks shook off a blanket of yellow leaves and ambled to the creek where the trout leapt like living rainbows.  Marigolds turned their lovely full faces towards the house.  Music beamed around the room.  The sweetness of the candy swirled in her mouth.  She laughed.

Ghost Boy closed his eyes and his mouth opened slightly.  His whole, silvery, transparent body glowed.  Waves of music coursed through the Lady.  She rolled the candy around her mouth and suddenly she was channeling storms.  Notes flurried through her as she swayed like a tree in a tempest.  Music blizzarded around the room, whirling in the corners like little tornadoes.  And then, slowly, her fingers crept to a gentle stream, until, at last, she lifted her hands and folded them into her lap.  She bowed her head.  She sighed a deep sigh.  Music shined in the Living Room.  Everything was thrumming.  Spider’s web billowed from the strength of the music.  She dropped down and perched on Lamp’s shade.

The Lady looked over at the Ghost Boy, and smiles. “Well?” she asked, “What did you decide?”   

“I want to go home,” he said quietly.

“Home?” said Spider.  “Where’s home?”

Ghost Boy looked up towards the moon shining in the window.  “There,” he said.

Everyone looked up at the moon.

“That would explain the moon candy,” said Spider.

“How’d you get here?” asked Floor.

“I died.  Before this house was here, before there was even a Mount Airy, I died.”


Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Channels, A Ghost Story in Five Parts: Part Two

In part one we were introduced to a wayward ghost from the moon.  We also met the Lady and her assortment of inanimate-animate objects.  The story ended with the Lady telling the Ghost Boy that he needed to make a decision.  What about?  Read on.

Part Two

“Decision?” he said out loud, “What decision?”  He reentered the house and floated above the living room floor.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said.

“You were drawn to the music,” she said, “the music draws lost souls.  My job is to help those lost souls get home—if they want to go home, that is.  That’s I why I said you need to make a decision.”

“How do you know where my home is?”

“You’re a Moon Child,” she replied, “Tabby and I knew that from the moment we saw you.”

“But how do you take me home?”

“I don’t.  The music does.”


“It drew you here didn’t it?  If you let it, it will draw you home.”

“To the…to my mm…”  He could say no more.  He suddenly found himself crying.

“Yes,” she said, “to the Moon, your Mother.  But you might not want to go home.  You might like haunting the streets of Philadelphia.  You have to decide whether or not you want to go home.  If you don’t, you’re perfectly welcome to stay here.  If you want to go home, I’ll play the music when I get back from work tomorrow and you’ll be home before you know it.”

The Ghost Boy trembled as he wept.

“You think about it,” the Lady said standing up, “I’m off to bed. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow one way or the other.” 

And with that she left the room, and as she did Silence appeared and began slowly, lovingly, like a grandmother kissing her grandchildren goodnight, touching everything—everything except the Piano.  When he had finished, he draped a silver mesh blanket over the entire room.  It clung to everything except the Piano.  The Lady’s voice could be heard singing quietly from another room.  Silence lifted a little bird that appeared in his hand.  He whispered something to the bird and it flew off in the direction of the Lady.  After a few moments her voice faded.  Silence smiled and turned to the Ghost Boy.  Ghost Boy rose and stepped through the wall and into the street.  He drifted like a wisp of moonlight.  Silence settled down in an easy chair and pulled the drapes aside.  His gaze followed the boy.  Ghost Boy’s weeping could be heard echoing through the trolley lines above the street.  He looked back at the Lady’s house and then up at Mother Moon.  Both had disappeared in the darkness.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Channels, A Ghost Story in Five Parts: Part One

Dear Wonder Child Blog Readers,

Rarely do I post reruns, but I thought this Halloween season (if it isn’t scary enough with the election) could use an inspirational ghost story.  It’s in five parts, and isn’t your traditional ghost story.  It’s about a boy, a ghost boy, who is trying to find his way home, and a Lady who channels music that just might help him get there, oh and a cat, a lamp, a houseplant, a wall, floor, ceiling, and a guest appearance by Silence. Enjoy.


by Joseph Anthony

Part One

Sitting at the old upright in the living room, she played late into the night.  Her fingers rivered over the keys, pouring music everywhere–into the living room, the attic, the street outside, and into the Ghost Boy wandering aimlessly along Germantown Avenue.  He stopped and stared towards her house. 

“It’s working,” said the Tabby Cat watching him from the window, swishing his tail to the music.

The Lady smiled and continued playing.

Cars drove through the Ghost Boy as he stood, enchanted by the sound.  The music strummed silver strings inside him that he didn’t knew he had and he began drifting towards the sound.  It was as if he had stepped into a stream and lost his footing, and was carried to her house.

“Here he comes,” said Tabby.

“Pretend we don’t notice him,” said the Lamp.

Just then, he wafted in through the drapery, like a wind-blown piece of the moon, and sat down across from the Lady.  She smiled and kept playing.  He closed his eyes. Notes flew around the room like so many audible butterflies, tumbling dizzyingly over one another in ecstatic flight.  The music swelled and somewhere in the Wissahickon Woods, a great blue heron unfolded her wings and lifted into the air.  Deer stopped nibbling the grass and looked up with luminous eyes.  People walking to McKinney’s Tavern up the street from her house suddenly felt happier than they had in years. 

As he listened, the Ghost Boy looked out the window as the first stars bloomed in the indigo field of the sky.  The Moon appeared; her face titled, and watched him from all that way. 

As the Lady played, sometimes her fingers barely touched the keys and the Piano’s hammers struck the strings like dew drops dripping onto a spider web.  Other times she fairly pounded the keys, and then the hammers shot off sharp, brilliant notes, like sparks from the hooves of mountain goats somewhere on a rocky ledge a mile above the ground in Southern Utah.

The Ghost Boy turned his face towards the Lady.  Her long, dark hair swayed with her body as she dipped towards the keys and then leaned back and away, as if dancing while sitting–trancelike and possessed.  Her eyes were closed as her fingers alighted over the keys, like sylphs over a garden of white flowers.  She was smiling, pleased as any clear instrument would be, as the sublime music coursed through her.  And somehow she seemed familiar–her pale complexion, her flowing movements. 

He began thinking of home and about how he died so very long ago.  He suddenly remembered the fever and the burning up inside.  He shuddered as he remembered how it felt when the chord that connected him with this world snapped and how he feathered upwards above his clammy, sweat soaked body, frightened and lost, as if he were drowning in space. 

Then she stopped.  He startled.  She lifted her fingers.  Her eyes opened.  She turned her face and looked in his direction.  He could swear she saw him.  He felt embarrassed and confused.  He looked away.  She waited a moment and then Silence entered and stood in the middle of the room, motionless as a hawk; frozen, yet able to shatter into flight any second.  The Lady sighed and then walked into the kitchen.  The Ghost Boy could hear plates clinking and silverware being taken out. 

Suddenly, everything in the room started talking at once and Silence imploded into an unseen void. 

The Aloe Plant on a table by the window spoke first:

“My arms are trembling,” said the Aloe Plant.

“My web is singing,” added Spider in the corner of the ceiling.

“She’s brilliant,” put in a Lamp sitting on a table by the sofa.

“Smooth as linoleum,” said the Floor.

“It’s great being all ears,” laughed the Walls.

“I feel like a cathedral,” said the Ceiling.

“She’s perfect,” said the Tabby Cat as he lifted his head to lick his paws, “what do you think?”  He looked over at Ghost Boy.

“I…I don’t know,” he stammered, “I was walking outside when I heard the Lady’s music.  I guess you could say it drew me here.”

The Lady walked back into the room, and over to the window.  She closed it and drew the drapes.  Ghost Boy could swear he saw the Moon wink at him just before the drapes were closed.  Then the Lady sat down next to Tabby and stroked the back of his head.  He purred, gloating to the others.  “Nevvverrr haaappensss to youuuu,” he purred.  The Lady looked around the room and her eyes settled on the Ghost Boy.  He shivered.

“Does she see me?” he wondered.

“Yes,” she said, “and you’re welcome to stay.  Only tomorrow you need to make your decision.”

He was stunned.  He didn’t know what to do or say.  He sat in the dark for a long time and then drifted through the wall and out into the cold, autumn scented street.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Visiting the Soul, Reflections on Spiritual Growth, Based on a Poem by Antonio Machado

Visiting the Soul,

Reflections on Spiritual Growth,

Based on a Poem by Antonio


From the door sill of a
dream they called my name…

It was the good voice,
the voice I loved so much.

“—Listen: will you go
with me to visit the soul?…”

A soft stroke reached
up to my heart.

“With you always”…And
in my dream I walked

Down a long and
solitary corridor,

Aware of the touching
of the pure robe,

And the soft beating of
blood in the hand that loved me.


Antonio Machado, translated by Robert
Bly, from the book

Times Alone: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado (Wesleyan Poetry in Translation)


I love this
poem.  It is beautiful, simple, and filled
with mysterious contradictions. It is also filled with hope. The line “with you
always” brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.  Let this poem sink in a little, let it break
open for you, into you, through you.  Learn
it by heart and treasure its many surprising assurances.

What mysterious
contradictions am I speaking about? Notice the poem says “voices,” in the first
line and yet the next line says, “It was the good voice, the voice I loved so
much.”  That contradiction of plural and singular
used to bother me and I often wondered if “voices” was a typo.  Today I sense something behind the plural and
singular that breathes the first breath of magic of the poem for me:  When we heed the voices of a community of safe
people (and for most of my life I didn’t—I isolated due to shame and arrogance,
insecurities and fear), they become one voice—the voice of the Beloved—the “good
voice,” “the voice we love so much.”  The
many voices of friends who love us, become the one voice of the Divine, just as
the many words of this poem or any other sacred text become one meaning (unique
to each reader, of course).  But we must
take steps into deep listening when we are with others so that when it speaks
we hear it and we take action.

Another mystery
of this poem is where it takes place. The voices call us “from the door sill of
a dream.”  From which side of the door
are we on?  Are we inside and the voices
coming from outside?  Or are we outside
with the voices inviting us in?  My
mentor is fond of saying, “The door to the sick mind opens from the inside,”
and I think that fits here. We are on the inside of a dream and the voices that
become One Voice are outside of us, calling us to step into a reality that is,
paradoxically, within. 

(I am
reminded that Rudolf Steiner once said, “If you want to learn about the world,
go within and if you want to learn about yourself go without into the world.”)

And what
does the voice say? It asks a question.  The answer to our many dilemmas in life are all
one question:

will you go with me to visit the soul?…” 

It is an
invitation that one has to listen for. 
It is an invitation to go within. 
And the Guest anticipates we might be afraid when asked this holy
question.  So the next line affirms: “With
you always.”  The Guest knows this
journey, contrary to all saccharine presentations of the spiritual life, means
pain, as much as it does healing.  It
means struggle as much as it does freedom. 
It means stumbling as much as it does dancing.  It means work as much as play. And the Guest
knows this and assures us that we will never travel this journey alone. 

Ah, but then
comes the next mysterious contradiction: we begin walking with the Guest and
the road is solitary, it is long, and it is a corridor.  It is like a womb and we must be born again
alone in that secret place within and yet we are born again with a Guest
holding our hand.  So it all starts with community.  We must take little steps out of ourselves
into the lives of others and suddenly we find ourselves, we find the Beloved.  And even though we can stick close to friends
and loved ones, the actual journey within is solitary.  We are the only ones who can move our feet.  God won’t even do that for us.  We are free to stand or move. 

So where are
we going?  We are going to visit the
soul.  We are going to be born again with
the Beloved.  It is a sacred
visitation.  We do not stay there.  If we stay too much within we lose touch with
the world around us, and vice-a-versa.

And this
brings us to the part of the poem that, should its meaning blossom into our
hearts, we will experience a sense of comfort that touches eternity.

The Beloved
is close.  And the more we walk with others and within, the
more the Beloved becomes a reality to us.  The Beloved is suddenly so close, so close we
touch.  We feel the Beloved’s robe
brushing against as we walk–such sweet, comforting, soft nearness.  We hold hands with the Beloved.  We feel the blood pulsing in the Beloved’s
hand—and this is such an important detail, this feeling of the pulse, this
remarkable, luminous intimacy. When we walk hand in hand with the Beloved we
feel alive.  The connection between us is real—it pulses.  It’s passionate and vibrant.  It is filled with adventure. 

And who is
the Beloved?  
Notice where
the Beloved’s “soft stroke” reaches from: it “reaches
up to our hearts.” And this is because it comes from a Child, a Child
reaching up to stroke our hearts.  The
Beloved Companion is the Holy Child.  We
must begin a journey towards the soul and when we do, we go, at first, with and
as, a Child.  And it all starts with the
Holy Child calling
us, being born
within us, and then uniting Itself with us so that we might raise that Child up
so that one day It can give birth to us again. 

And even
though it’s “a dream”—in the sense that it feels so unbelievable, it is
real.  The Holy Child is Real.  And when we go towards the soul, towards our
ultimate reality, towards living our Heart’s Desire we do not go alone.  We take Innocence, Joy, Wonder, Truth, and a
glorious, never ending sense of discovery.

Tell me Dear Readers, what does this poem mean to you?



Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Playing With Words: Aspiration, or The Breathing Into Your Dreams

Playing With Words

Aspiration, or

The Breathing Into Your Dreams 


I have
always been intrigued with words that have to do with breathing, and aspiration is no different.  What intrigues me is that such words have
come to mean other things that have to do with desire, success, and creativity.  Why is that? 
How did this come to be?  Alas, it
is not the purpose of this little piece to answer such questions.  Instead I simply want to dive into one
particular word related to the breath—aspiration–with
the hopes it will inspire (another breathing word) you to keep striving to
reach your dreams and visions.

Aspiration comes directly from the word aspirate, which means, “an audible
breath.”  As far back as the 1500’s this
meant a certain kind of “breathing into something,” as in a desire or striving
for a goal.  Aspirate, in turn, comes from aspire,
which is Latin, aspirare, meaning, “to
breathe.”  And if we look a little deeper
into aspirare, we come to the root of
it all—spiritusspirit—the breath of life.*

What keys do
these old meanings hold for us and the living of our dreams?  The first is the importance of breathing—literal, physical
breathing.  The more we practice deep,
belly breathing the clearer our heads become, the clearer our hearts become, the
more focused and energized we become.  We
spend less time on frivolous resentments and disappointments.  We are able to keep moving with vitality.  Learning to breathe properly is the great key
to living ones dreams.  And there’s more.

implication of the roots of aspiration
is clear: breath is related to life (obviously), but we are not only referring
to staying alive physically.  We are
talking about being truly alive to our dreams, or deepest, God-given
desires.  Once we begin striving towards
these our life blossoms into fullness. 
It’s the same when we see something beautiful, majestic, and our bodies
involuntarily inhale with a delicious element of surprise, and when we exhale,
we feel a deep sense of relief and gratitude—we feel fulfilled in that
moment.  True beauty does that to us.  It’s the same for living our dreams.  As we move towards them—planning, striving,
playing towards them, our breathing deepens in and out with the activity.  We feel inspired as the creativity flows in,
and we expire all of the doubts and fears as we move, step by step, towards our

one of the old connotations of aspire
is “to pant with desire,” as in longing and devotion. 

“As the deer
panteth for water, so my soul longs for thee (Psalm 42:1).”

The original
Hebrew word for panteth, means to “long
for.”  So when we are living our dreams,
when we are on fire with passion for our dreams, when we are living the life we
love, we will be panting with desire, we will be truly alive. 

And we can
go still further. When we are living our dreams we are fulfilling the desires
of the Divine, for we are, each and every one of us, born to shine.  God desires that for us—God breathes it into
us, like someone breathing into a flute. 
We get to play our own tune that is based on the breath and music of the
Divine. One could say then all of our desires and dreams are one desire, one
dream—to live as children of God.  As we
move towards leading this life, the brighter we shine, the more fully we are
able to breathe—freely, unconstricted, fully.

And it all starts
with breathing.  All aspirations, all
aspiring and inspiration comes from breathing. 
So breathe fully of your dreams, and dance.  Breathe fully the breath of the spirit of
God—it is a gift flowing through you, and watch your life spill over into an
abundance that is not only lavish, but never ending.


etymology information comes from the excellent Online Etymology Dictionary


Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog