The shortest distance between two points is a straight line so let us take a meandering course because everything wants to be round. Let us discuss the formation of sedimentary rocks, let us wonder at the course of a river, let us consider the gravity of bodies in motion.
Everything is different when seen from a distance, an unobtainable objective view, valued and called “better” for its natural elusiveness. Instead of watching the river, of which we can see only the churning roiling surface and imagine the depths of its path, imagine being the water. What rocks and roots and fallen trees? Bodies of water. What course to travel, what path of least resistence, what channels to cut into the rock, whither shall we go?
Millions of animalcules swarm inside the droplets of river water, microscopic creatures with feathery undulating fins and segmented jelly bodies, and since they’re made mostly of water they appear transparent, no bigger than a dust mote. We cannot view a thing without interpreting it, and I wonder, why not find joy in seeking the miniscule? Can we abandon the objective, can we alter the point of view which makes it so simple to dis-relate to every thing? Given the vastness of the universe, how are we different from the micro-organism in the droplet from a puddle? The wind moves on the waters.
Yesterday was a steady constant gray and wet shroud pulled around the world, gauzy dark clouds wrapped and wound around the horizon, a muffle, a damper. Voices do not carry in the fog like voices across water. Everything is hushed, waiting for the dark lurking luminous fog-beast to lumber away down the hollows and valleys. The rain was not so much droplets falling, but the air felt thick with water, saturating rather than precipitating, the heavy-bellied clouds descended to the earth. Only seagulls ventured into the damp and cold, wheeling high above and swirling like dust motes reflecting the pale distant sunlight.
In dance class last night I felt my mind gathering all the pertinent bits and pieces, considering the particulars, sorting and storing the information even as my muscles stretched, released, flexed, and achieved that rubbery state just this side of exhaustion. We learned a step pattern, folkloric in origin, which travels in a figure-8 on the floor. It involves a tricky backwards-feeling gyre, spinning against the momentum of the turn, a curious design.
We also learned foundation movements from Upper Egypt and North African tribes, which precede modern bellydance movement. Curious to see the big tribal motion, the bounces and the kicks, motions like horses pawing the earth, and then the refinement, making the motion smaller and more controlled. It is possible to see the same motion, the same muscles being used, but where the motion was once large, for dancing in parties outside, now the motion is small and refined, for dancing between tables in night clubs.
Evolved does not always indicate increased value. Sometimes we forget the basis of the thing itself. I find it increasingly important to discover my methods of discernment, to learn how easily I can turn against the gyre and still find balance.
Everything is different when seen from a distance, an unobtainable objective view, valued and called “better” for its natural elusiveness. Instead of watching the river, of which we can see only the churning roiling surface and imagine the depths of its path, imagine being the water. What rocks and roots and fallen trees? Bodies of water. What course to travel, what path of least resistence, what channels to cut into the rock, whither shall we go?
Millions of animalcules swarm inside the droplets of river water, microscopic creatures with feathery undulating fins and segmented jelly bodies, and since they’re made mostly of water they appear transparent, no bigger than a dust mote. We cannot view a thing without interpreting it, and I wonder, why not find joy in seeking the miniscule? Can we abandon the objective, can we alter the point of view which makes it so simple to dis-relate to every thing? Given the vastness of the universe, how are we different from the micro-organism in the droplet from a puddle? The wind moves on the waters.
Yesterday was a steady constant gray and wet shroud pulled around the world, gauzy dark clouds wrapped and wound around the horizon, a muffle, a damper. Voices do not carry in the fog like voices across water. Everything is hushed, waiting for the dark lurking luminous fog-beast to lumber away down the hollows and valleys. The rain was not so much droplets falling, but the air felt thick with water, saturating rather than precipitating, the heavy-bellied clouds descended to the earth. Only seagulls ventured into the damp and cold, wheeling high above and swirling like dust motes reflecting the pale distant sunlight.
In dance class last night I felt my mind gathering all the pertinent bits and pieces, considering the particulars, sorting and storing the information even as my muscles stretched, released, flexed, and achieved that rubbery state just this side of exhaustion. We learned a step pattern, folkloric in origin, which travels in a figure-8 on the floor. It involves a tricky backwards-feeling gyre, spinning against the momentum of the turn, a curious design.
We also learned foundation movements from Upper Egypt and North African tribes, which precede modern bellydance movement. Curious to see the big tribal motion, the bounces and the kicks, motions like horses pawing the earth, and then the refinement, making the motion smaller and more controlled. It is possible to see the same motion, the same muscles being used, but where the motion was once large, for dancing in parties outside, now the motion is small and refined, for dancing between tables in night clubs.
Evolved does not always indicate increased value. Sometimes we forget the basis of the thing itself. I find it increasingly important to discover my methods of discernment, to learn how easily I can turn against the gyre and still find balance.
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