Happy birthday Laura F MK
My wish for you is that everything in your world brings you satisfaction.
That you always find your way to joy through the fear.
I lift my arms into T shape. I bend to the right, center, left, right again. Pain creeps through my shoulders and sets my neck on fire. My arms drop in failure. I try again. My wings rise dramatically this time. They are not aflame like the Phoenix. They burn but they cannot fly.
If I was a bird, I would spread my arms wide, leap from the high wire. Bend to the left, center, right and left again. Carelessly I’d dive through the empty air. I’d breathe in the sweet scent of corn. Eyes closed I’d approach the ground. Beat my wings to rise again through a knowing of imminent death that does not need eyes. The ebb and flow of heights and depths, lights and darks, passions and droughts courses through me. I’d be completely alone in this ritual. Strong muscles offer bravery I don’t always feel. Shhh, no one is supposed to know the doubts that creep in when I don’t have this dance to fill me. I soar while others rested.
When they rise from the ground, they are one. A cloud of choreography, they feel the movements in the space between them. Fingertips are abuzz with the energy of right, center, up, left, center. They are beautiful. There’s no telling who is the leader that decides when the crescendo peaks. The mesmerize drivers who are always looking for entertainment as their passengers have disappeared into small boxes that lack chocolate and gifts. Children used to be the first to squeal at the impromptu show. They would watch the tales woven through the sky like Auntie’s cross-stitching, precise movements in a grand design. I am out of wing on the Island of Misfit Toys. We love the same rhythms but not in the same ways.
Maybe I’m more like fall leaves, blown dead from branches that have had their fun and are looking forward to wintering and the new fun that will come with bright buds in spring. They dance near each other, not with each other.
I lift my arms into T shape. I I bend to the right, center, left, right again. When pain creeps through my shoulders, I focus on my breath. The energy that comes on the sweet scent of corn. Through closed eyes the web of the universe allows me to see this place in space and time is all mine.
