Thursday, February 16, 2006
echinoderm in 3/4 time
Quiet. Incubation time, what happens when you’re dancing with loss. My father told me once that he used to pull the legs off long-legged spiders when he was a kid; he’d get down to one leg and they’d just sort of spin, no legs and they’d just sit there. I’ve felt somewhere between one leg and none for a while. It makes for a slow dance, one unseen to the untrained eye, a stolen waltz in a dark corner between cerebrum and cerebellum. The good news is I’ve found I am less spider than starfish.
The darkness is more beautiful down here than most people give credence. Sometimes I think people are just afraid to dive, of what they’ll find, of being in a dark place with one or no legs. It's really not unlike meditating in a floatation chamber, learning to stop fighting the water and just allow yourself to quietly, effortlessly move. It's just you and your brain and the sound of your breathing. Sometimes something wells up, like a tear that falls unbidden on the train, but it's about regeneration and healing, not about the thumb that could end it all.
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