* Breath_ The New Science of a Lost Art - James Nestor
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** Learn the Five Tibetan Rites. Get the book
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The path to everlasting life involves a lot of stretching: back bends, neck bends, and twirling, each
one a holy and ancient practice that had been passed down in secrecy from one Buddhist monk to
another for 2,500 years. Olsson and I need this stretching; even if we breathe through the nose
twenty-four hours a day, it won’t help much unless we’ve got the lung capacity to hold in that air.
Just a few minutes of daily bending and breathing can expand lung capacity. With that extra
capacity we can expand our lives.

The stretches, called the Five Tibetan Rites, came to the Western world, and to me, by way of
writer Peter Kelder, who was  known as a lover of “books and libraries, words and poetry.”

 In the 1930s, Kelder was sitting on a park bench in southern California when an elderly stranger
struck up a conversation. The man, whom he called Colonel Bradford, had spent decades in India
with the British Army. The Colonel was old—all sloping shoulders, gray hair, and wobbly
legs—but he believed there was a cure for aging and that it was locked up in a monastery in the
Himalayas. The usual mystical stuff occurred up there: the sick became healthy, poor became rich,
old became young. Kelder and the Colonel stayed in touch and shared many conversations. Then,
one day, the old man hobbled away, desperate to find this Shangri-La before he drew his last
breath.

Four years passed until Kelder received a call from his building’s doorman. The Colonel was
waiting downstairs. He looked 20 years younger. He was standing straight, his face vibrant and
alive, and his once-balding head was covered in thick, dark hair. He’d found the monastery,
studied the ancient manuscripts, and learned restorative practices from the monks. He’d reversed
aging through nothing more than stretching and breathing.

Kelder described these techniques in a slim booklet titled The Eye of Revelation, published in
1939. Few people bothered to read it; fewer believed it. Kelder’s yarn was likely fabricated, or at
minimum grossly exaggerated. However, the  lung-expanding stretches he described are rooted in
actual exercises that date back to 500 BCE. Tibetans had used these methods for millennia to
improve physical fitness, mental health, cardiovascular function, and, of course,  extend life.

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** Lungs capacity are the greatests indicator of life span
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More recently, science has begun measuring what the ancient Tibetans understood intuitively. In
the 1980s, researchers with the Framingham Study, a 70-year longitudinal research program
focused on heart disease, attempted to find out if lung size really did correlate to longevity. They 
gathered two decades of data from 5,200 subjects, crunched the numbers, and discovered that the
greatest indicator of life span wasn’t genetics, diet, or the amount of daily exercise, as many had
suspected. It was lung capacity.

The smaller and less efficient lungs became, the quicker subjects got sick and died. The cause of
deterioration didn’t matter. Smaller meant shorter. But larger lungs equaled longer lives.

Our ability to breathe full breaths was,  according to the researchers, “literally a measure of living
capacity.” In 2000, University of Buffalo researchers ran a similar study,  comparing lung capacity
in a group of more than a thousand subjects over three decades. The  results were the same.
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** Most of the weight is lost through breathing as CO2
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For every ten pounds of fat lost in our bodies, eight and a half pounds of it comes out through the
lungs; most of it is carbon dioxide mixed with a bit of water vapor. The rest is sweated or urinated
out. This is a fact that most doctors, nutritionists, and other medical professionals have historically
gotten wrong. The lungs are the weight-regulating system of the body.
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** Prayer is regulated breathing. Again how tradition is distilled knowledge
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A last word on slow breathing. It goes by another name: prayer.

When Buddhist monks chant their most popular mantra, Om Mani Padme Hum, each spoken
phrase lasts six seconds, with six seconds to inhale before the chant starts again. The traditional
chant of Om, the “sacred sound of the universe” used in Jainism and other traditions, takes six
seconds to sing, with a pause of about six seconds to inhale.

The sa ta na ma chant, one of the best-known techniques in Kundalini yoga, also takes six seconds
to vocalize, followed by six seconds to inhale. Then there were the ancient Hindu hand and tongue
poses called mudras. A technique called khechari, intended to help boost physical and spiritual
health and overcome disease, involves placing the tongue above the soft palate so that it’s pointed
toward the nasal cavity. The deep, slow breaths taken during this khechari each take six seconds. 
Japanese, African, Hawaiian, Native American, Buddhist, Taoist, Christian—these cultures and
religions all had somehow developed the same prayer techniques, requiring the same breathing
patterns. And they all likely benefited from the same calming effect.

In 2001, researchers at the University of Pavia in Italy gathered two dozen subjects, covered them
with sensors to measure blood flow, heart  rate, and nervous system feedback, then had them recite
a Buddhist mantra as well as the original Latin version of the rosary, the Catholic prayer cycle of
the  Ave Maria, which is repeated half by a priest and half by the congregation. They were stunned
to find that the average number of breaths for each cycle was “almost exactly” identical, just a bit
quicker than the pace of the Hindu, Taoist, and Native American prayers: 5.5 breaths a minute.

But what was even more stunning was what breathing like this did to the subjects. Whenever they
followed this slow breathing pattern, blood flow to the brain increased and the systems in the body
entered  a state of coherence, when the functions of heart, circulation, and nervous system are
coordinated to  peak efficiency. The moment the subjects returned to spontaneous breathing or
talking, their hearts would beat a little more erratically, and the integration of these systems would
slowly fall apart. A few more slow and relaxed breaths, and it would return again.

A decade after the Pavia tests, two renowned professors and doctors in New York, Patricia
Gerbarg and Richard Brown, used the same breathing pattern on patients with anxiety and
depression, minus the praying. Some of these patients had trouble breathing slowly, so Gerbarg
and Brown recommended they start with an easier rhythm of three-second inhales with at least
the same length exhale. As the patients got more comfortable, they breathed in and breathed out
longer.

It turned out that the most efficient breathing rhythm occurred when both the length of
respirations and total breaths per minute were locked in to a spooky symmetry:  5.5-second inhales
followed by 5.5-second exhales, which works out almost exactly to 5.5 breaths a minute. This was
the same pattern of the rosary.

The  results were profound, even when practiced for just five to ten minutes a day. “I have seen
patients transformed by adopting regular breathing practices,” said Brown. He and Gerbarg even
used this slow  breathing technique to restore the lungs of 9/11 survivors who suffered from a
chronic and painful cough caused by the debris, a horrendous condition called ground-glass
lungs. There was no known cure for this ailment, and yet after just two months, patients achieved
a significant improvement by simply learning to practice a few rounds of slow breathing a day.

Gerbarg and Brown would write books and publish several scientific articles about the restorative
power of the slow breathing, which would become known as “resonant breathing” or Coherent
Breathing. The technique  required no real effort, time, or thoughtfulness. And we could do it
anywhere, at any time. “It’s totally private,” wrote Gerbarg. “ Nobody knows you’re doing it.”

In many ways, this resonant breathing offered the same benefits as meditation for people who
didn’t want to meditate. Or yoga for people who didn’t like to get off the couch. It offered the
healing touch of prayer for people who weren’t religious.

Did it matter if we breathed at a rate of six or five seconds, or were a half second off? It did not, as
long as the breaths  were in the range of 5.5.

“We believe that the rosary may have partly evolved because it synchronized with the inherent
cardiovascular (Mayer) rhythms, and thus gave a feeling of wellbeing, and perhaps an increased
responsiveness to the religious message,” the Pavia researchers wrote. In other words, the
meditations, Ave Marias, and dozens of other prayers that had been developed over the past
several thousand years weren’t all baseless.

Prayer heals, especially when it’s practiced at 5.5 breaths a minute.

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** Over-breathing leads to kidney buffering, which tries to balance blood pH by release bicarbonate into the bloodstream, taking with it minerals needed in cells
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Packman explained that overbreathing can have other, deeper effects on the body beyond just lung
function and constricted airways. When we breathe too much, we expel too much carbon dioxide,
and our blood pH rises to become more alkaline; when we breathe slower and hold in more carbon
dioxide, pH lowers and blood becomes more acidic. Almost all cellular functions in the body take
place at a blood pH of 7.4, our sweet spot between alkaline and acid.

When we stray from that, the body will do whatever it can to get us back there. The kidneys, for
instance, will respond to overbreathing by “buffering,”* a process in which an alkaline compound
called bicarbonate is released into the urine. With less bicarbonate in the blood, the pH lowers back
to normal, even if we continue to huff and puff. It’s as if nothing ever happened.

The problem with buffering is that it’s meant as a temporary fix, not a permanent solution.  Weeks,
months, or years of overbreathing, and this constant kidney (renal) buffering will deplete the body
of essential minerals. This occurs because as bicarbonate leaves the body, it takes magnesium,
phosphorus, potassium, and more with it. Without healthy stores  of these minerals, nothing works
right: nerves malfunction, smooth muscles spasm, and cells can’t efficiently create energy.
Breathing  becomes even more difficult. This is one reason why asthmatics and other people with
chronic respiratory problems are prescribed supplements like magnesium to  stave off further
attacks.

Constant buffering also weakens the bones, which try to compensate by dissolving their mineral
stores back into the bloodstream. (Yes, it’s possible to overbreathe yourself into osteoporosis and
increased risk of bone fractures.) This unending grind of imbalances and compensations, of
deficiencies and strain, will eventually break the body down.

Packman was quick to point out that not all respiratory illness sufferers and other sick people have
a carbon dioxide deficiency problem. Those with emphysema, for instance, may have dangerously
high levels of carbon dioxide because they’ve got too much stale air trapped inside. Others may
test with completely normal blood gas and pH levels. But such nitpicking, he said, missed the
larger point.

All these people have a breathing problem. They’re stressed, they’re inflamed, they’re congested,
and they struggle to get air in and out of their lungs. And it’s these breathing problems that slow,
paced, less techniques are so effective at fixing.
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That shove is still perplexing to the few scientists paying close attention to such phenomena. They
ask: How exactly can conscious extreme breathing hack into the autonomic nervous system?

Dr. Stephen Porges, a scientist and professor of psychiatry at the University of North Carolina, has
studied the nervous system and its response to stress for the past 30 years.  His primary focus is the
vagus nerve, a meandering network within the system that connects to all the major internal
organs. The vagus nerve is the power lever; it’s what turns organs on and off in response to stress.

 When perceived stress level is very high, the vagus nerve slows heart rate, circulation, and organ
functions. This is how our reptilian and mammalian ancestors evolved the ability to “play dead”
hundreds of millions of years ago, to conserve energy and deflect aggression when under attack by
predators. Reptiles still access this ability, as do many mammals. (Imagine the limp body of a
mouse in the jaws of a house cat.)

People “play dead,” too, because we share the same mechanisms in the primitive part of our brain
stem. We  call it fainting. Our tendency to faint is controlled by the vagal system, specifically how
sensitive we are to perceived danger. Some people are so anxious and oversensitive that their
vagus nerves will cause them to faint at the smallest things, like seeing a spider, hearing bad news,
or looking at blood.

Most of us aren’t that sensitive. It’s much more common, especially in the modern world, to never
experience full-blown, life-threatening stress, but to never fully relax either. We’ll spend our days
half-asleep and nights half-awake, lolling in a gray zone of half-anxiety. When we do, the vagus
nerve stays half-stimulated.

During these times, the organs throughout the body won’t be “shut down,” but will instead be
half supported in a state of suspended animation: blood flow will decrease and communication
between the organs and the brain will become choppy, like a conversation through a staticky
phone line. Our bodies can persist like this for a while; they can keep us alive, but they can’t keep
us healthy.

Porges found that patients who suffer Da Costa–like maladies such as tingling in their fingers,
chronic diarrhea, rapid heart rate, diabetes, and erectile dysfunction are often treated for each of
these symptoms with a focus on individual organs. But there’s nothing wrong with their
stomachs, hearts, or genitals. What they often suffer from are communication problems along the
vagal and autonomic network, brought on by chronic stress. To some researchers, it’s no
coincidence that eight of the  top ten most common cancers affect  organs cut off from normal blood
flow during extended states of stress.

Fixing the autonomic nervous system can effectively cure or  lessen these symptoms. In the past
decade, surgeons have implanted electrical nodes in patients that work as an artificial vagal nerve
to restart blood flow and communication between organs. The procedure is called vagus nerve
stimulation, and it’s highly effective for patients suffering from anxiety, depression, and
autoimmune diseases.

But there is another,  less invasive way Porges found to stimulate the vagus nerve: breathing.

Breathing is an autonomic function we can consciously control. While we can’t simply decide
when to slow or  speed up our heart or digestion, or to move blood from one organ to another, we
can choose how and  when to breathe.  Willing ourselves to breathe slowly will open up
communication along the vagal network and relax us into a parasympathetic state.

Breathing really fast and heavy on purpose flips the vagal response the other way, shoving us into
a stressed state. It teaches us to  consciously access the autonomic nervous system and control it, to
turn on heavy stress specifically so that we can turn it off and spend the rest of our days and
nights relaxing and restoring,  feeding and breeding.

“You are not the passenger,” McGee keeps yelling at me. “You are the pilot!”
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As far back as the first century BCE, inhabitants of what is now India described a system of
conscious apnea, which they claimed restored health and ensured long life. The Bhagavad Gita, a
Hindu spiritual text written around 2,000 years ago, translated the breathing practice of
pranayama to mean “trance induced by stopping all breathing.” A few centuries after that,
Chinese scholars wrote several volumes detailing the art of breathholding. One text, A Book on
Breath by the Master Great Nothing of Sung-Shan,  offered this advice:

 Lie down every day, pacify your mind, cut off thoughts and block the breath. Close your fists,
 inhale through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. Do not let the breathing be audible.
 Let it be most subtle and fine. When the breath is full, block it. The blocking (of the breath) will
 make the soles of your feet perspire. Count one hundred times “one and two.” After blocking
 the breath to the  extreme, exhale it subtly. Inhale a little more and block (the breath) again. If
 (you feel) hot, exhale with “Ho.” If (you feel) cold, blow the breath out and exhale it with (the
 sound) “Ch’ui.” If you can breathe (like this) and count to one thousand (when blocking), then
 you will need neither grains nor medicine.

Today, breathholding is associated almost entirely with disease. “Don’t hold your breath,” the
adage goes. Denying our bodies a consistent flow of oxygen, we’ve been told, is bad. For the most
part, this is sound advice.
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In a nutshell, this is what we’ve learned.

SHUT YOUR MOUTH

Two months after the Stanford experiment ended, Dr. Jayakar Nayak’s lab emailed Anders Olsson
and me the results of our 20-day study. The major takeaway we already knew: mouthbreathing is
terrible.

After just 240 hours of breathing only through our mouths, catecholamine and stress-related
hormones spiked, suggesting that our bodies were under physical and mental duress. A
diphtheroid Corynebacterium bug had also infested my nose. If I’d continued breathing only
through my mouth for a few more days, it might have developed into a full-fledged sinus
infection. All the while, my blood pressure was through the roof and my heart rate variability
plummeted. Olsson’s data mirrored mine.

By night, the constant flow of unpressurized, unfiltered air flowing in  and out of our gaping
mouths collapsed the soft tissue in our throats to such an extent that we both began to experience
persistent nocturnal suffocation. We snored. A few days later, we started choking on ourselves,
suffering from bouts of sleep apnea. Had we continued breathing through our mouths, there’s a
decent chance we both would have developed chronic snoring and obstructive sleep apnea, along
with the hypertension and metabolic and cognitive problems that come with it.

Not all of our measurements changed. Blood sugar levels weren’t affected. Cell counts in the blood
and ionized calcium remained the same, as did most other blood markers.

There were a few surprises. My lactate levels, a measure of anaerobic respiration, actually
decreased with mouthbreathing, which suggested I was using more oxygen-burning aerobic
energy. This was the opposite of what most fitness experts would have predicted. (Olsson’s lactate
slightly increased.) I lost about two pounds, due most likely to exhaled water loss. But trust me on
this: a post-holiday mouthbreathing diet is not recommended.

The nagging fatigue, irritation, testiness, and anxiety. The horrid breath and constant bathroom
breaks. The spaciness, stares, and stomachaches. It was awful.

The human body has evolved to be able to breathe through two channels for a reason. It increases
our chances of survival. Should the nose get obstructed, the mouth becomes a backup ventilation
system. The few gasping breaths Stephen Curry takes before dunking a basketball, or a sick kid
huffs when he has a fever, or you take in when you’re laughing with your friends—this temporary
mouthbreathing will have no long-term effects on health.

Chronic mouthbreathing is different. The body is not designed to process raw air for hours at a
time, day or night. There is nothing normal about it.

 BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NOSE

The day Olsson and I removed the plugs and tape, our blood pressure dropped, carbon dioxide
levels rose, and heart rates normalized. Snoring decreased 30-fold from the mouthbreathing
phase, from several hours a night to a few minutes. Within two days, neither of us was snoring at
all. The  bacterial infection in my nose quickly cleared up without treatment. Olsson and I had
cured ourselves by breathing through our noses.

Ann Kearney, the doctor of speech-language pathology at the Stanford Voice and Swallowing
Center, was so impressed by our data and her own transformation overcoming congestion and
mouthbreathing that, at this writing, she is putting together a two-year study with 500 subjects to
research the effects of sleep tape on snoring and sleep apnea.

The benefits of nasal breathing extended beyond the bedroom. I increased my performance on the
stationary bike by about 10 percent. (Olsson had more modest gains, about 5 percent.) These
results paled in comparison to the gains reported by sports training expert John Douillard, but I
couldn’t imagine any athlete who wouldn’t want a 10 percent—or even a 1 percent—advantage
over a competitor.

On a more personal note, those first few nasal breaths after ten days of obstruction were so
shimmering and rousing that I got a little teary-eyed. I thought about my interviews with all the
empty nose syndrome sufferers who’d been told they were crazy, that they should just quit
complaining and breathe through their mouths. I thought about kids who’d been told that chronic
allergies and congestion were a part of childhood, and the adults who’d convinced themselves
that choking every night was a natural part of growing old.

I had felt their pain, and was lucky enough to breathe life on the other side. It’s something I’ll
never forget, and will never, ever repeat.

 EXHALE

Carl Stough spent a half century reminding his students of how to get all the air out of our bodies
so that we could take more in. He trained his clients to exhale longer and, in the process, do what
had long been considered biologically impossible. Emphysemics reported almost total recovery from
their incurable conditions, opera singers gained more resonance and tone in their voices,
asthmatics no longer suffered from attacks, and Olympic sprinters went on to win gold medals.

As basic as this sounds, full exhalations are seldom practiced. Most of us engage only a small
fraction of our total lung capacity with each breath, requiring us to do more and get less. One of
the first steps in healthy breathing is to extend these breaths, to move the diaphragm up and down
a bit more, and to get air out of us before taking a new one in.

“ The difference in breathing in the coordinated pattern and in an altered pattern is the difference
between operating at peak efficiency and just getting along,” Stough wrote in the 1960s. “An
engine does not have to be in tip-top condition to work, but it gives a better performance if it is.”

CHEW

The millions of ancient skeletons in the Paris quarries and hundreds of pre–Industrial Age skulls at
the Morton Collection had three things in common: huge sinus cavities, strong jaws, and straight
teeth. Almost all humans born before 300 years ago shared these traits because they chewed a lot.

 The bones in the human face don’t stop growing in our 20s, unlike other bones in the body. They
can expand and remodel into our 70s, and likely beyond. Which means we can influence the size
and shape of our mouths and improve our ability to breathe at virtually any age.

To do this, don’t follow the diet advice of eating what our great-grandmothers ate. Too much of
that stuff was already soft and overly processed. Your diet should consist of the  rougher, rawer,
and heartier foods our great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmothers ate. The kinds of foods
that required an hour or two a day of hard chewing. And in the meantime, lips together, teeth
slightly touching, and tongue on the roof of the mouth.

BREATHE MORE, ON OCCASION

Since meeting Chuck McGee at that roadside park in the Sierras, I’ve been practicing Tummo with
dozens of others from around the world on Monday nights. That’s when McGee hosts a free online
session open to anyone who wants to “become the eye of the storm.”

Overbreathing has gotten a bad rap in the past few decades, and rightfully so. Feeding the body
more air than it needs is damaging for the lungs right down to the cellular level. Today, the
majority of us breathe more than we should, without realizing it.

Willing yourself to breathe heavily for a short, intense time, however, can be profoundly
therapeutic. “It’s only through disruption that we can be normal again,” McGee told me. That’s
what techniques like Tummo, Sudarshan Kriya, and vigorous pranayamas do. They stress the
body on purpose, snapping it out of its funk so that it can properly function during the other 23½
hours a day. Conscious heavy breathing teaches us to be the pilots of our autonomic nervous
systems and our bodies, not the passengers.

 HOLD YOUR BREATH

Several months after experimenting with carbon dioxide therapy, I was at home reading the
Sunday paper, flipping through the obituaries, and saw that Dr. Donald Klein had died. Klein
was the psychiatrist who spent years studying the links between chemoreceptor flexibility, carbon
dioxide, and anxieties. He was 90. It was Klein’s research that inspired Justin Feinstein to pursue
the NIH-funded experiments in Tulsa.

I wrote Feinstein with the news. He was crushed. He told me he’d been planning on reaching out
to Klein in the coming weeks regarding what could be a “game-changing discovery.”

It turns out that the amygdalae, those gooey nodes on the sides of our head that help govern
perceptions of fear and emotions, also control aspects of our breathing. Patients with epilepsy who
have had these brain areas stimulated with electrodes immediately cease breathing. The patients
were totally unaware of it and didn’t seem to feel their carbon dioxide levels rising long after their
breathing ceased.

Communication between the chemoreceptors and amygdalae works both ways: these structures
are constantly exchanging information and adjusting breathing every second of every minute of
the day. If communication breaks down, havoc ensues.

Feinstein believes that people with anxiety likely suffer from connection problems between these
areas and could unwittingly be holding their breath throughout the day. Only when the body
becomes overwhelmed by carbon dioxide would their chemoreceptors kick in and trigger an
emergency signal to the brain to immediately get another breath. The patients would reflexively
start fighting to breathe. They’d panic.

Eventually their bodies adapt to avoid such unexpected attacks by staying in a state of alert, by
constantly overbreathing in an effort to keep their carbon dioxide as low as possible.

 “What anxious patients could be experiencing is a completely natural reaction—they’re reacting to
an emergency in their bodies,” said Feinstein. “It could be that anxiety, at its root, isn’t a
psychological problem at all.”

This approach is all very theoretical, Feinstein warned, and needs to be rigorously tested, which is
what he will do in the coming years. But if it’s true, it could explain why so many drugs don’t
work for panic, anxiety, and other fear-based conditions, and how slow and steady breathing
therapy does.

HOW WE BREATHE MATTERS

I’ve chatted with Anders Olsson every few weeks since we paid through the nose in the Stanford
experiment. Our talks are never dull. “I have more energy and focus than ever in my life!” he told
me, right after celebrating his 50th birthday. Olsson is a pulmonaut in the purest sense: self-taught
and driven by a sense that we are missing something right in front of us, a truth basic and
essential.

Through all my travels and travails, there is one lesson, one equation, that I believe is at the root of
so much health, happiness, and longevity. I’m a bit embarrassed to say it has taken me a decade to
figure this out, and I realize how insignificant it might look on this page. But lest we forget, nature
is simple but subtle.

The perfect breath is this: Breathe in for about 5.5 seconds, then exhale for 5.5 seconds. That’s 5.5
breaths a minute for a total of about 5.5 liters of air.

You can practice this perfect breathing for a few minutes, or a few hours. There is no such thing as
having too much peak efficiency in your body.

Olsson told me he’s working on several more devices to help us  breathe at this rate—slowly and
less. He’s finishing production on his BreathIQ, a portable device that measures nitric oxide, carbon
dioxide, ammonia, and other chemicals in exhaled breath. Then there are other skunkworks to
mimic the effects of perfect breathing: a carbon dioxide suit, a hat, and . . .

Meanwhile, Google just released an app that pops up automatically when the words “breathing
exercise” are searched. It trains visitors to inhale and exhale every 5.5 seconds. Down the street
from my house is a startup called Spire, which created a device that tracks breath rate and alerts
users every time respiration becomes too fast or disjointed. In the fitness industry, resistance masks
and mouthpieces with names like Expand-a-Lung are all the rage.

Before we know it, breathing slow, less, and through the nose with a big exhale will be big
business, like so much else. But be aware that the stripped-down approach is as good as any. It
requires no batteries, Wi-Fi, headgear, or smartphones. It costs nothing, takes little time and effort,
and you can do it wherever you are, whenever you need. It’s a function our distant ancestors
practiced since they crawled out of the sludge two and a half billion years ago, a technology our
own species has been perfecting with only our lips, noses, and lungs for hundreds of thousands of
years.

Most days, I treat it like a stretch, something I do after a long time sitting or stressing to bring
myself back to normal. When I need an extra boost, I come here, to this old Victorian house in the
Haight-Ashbury, and sit beside this rattling window with the other Sudarshan Kriya breathers I
first met ten years ago.
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