Friday, May 28, 2010

Heavy and Light

Yesterday I felt light. Lovely, prism-white space surrounded my brain, seeping through the crevice between left and right, dispersing itself like water between the molecules, opening space, letting air and light flood in.

I flitted down the stairs with the barest touch, swung from the bottom rail to land lightly on the hardwood, glided. I felt as though I had turned down gravity. Unburdened, my body moved gracefully in a dance of doing through the kitchen.

Today I feel heavy. My scalp a contracting elastic, pressuring cranial bones against my brain like squeezing a sponge. My sinuses lie heavily on my cheekbones, and tug my drooping eyelids. My mind feels sluggish, veiled. It's hard work to think. I feel befuddled, half asleep.

I move in slow motion folding the laundry. I carefully smooth each section before lovingly patting down a fold. Unable to think, I am helplessly present with the moment but, periodically, I prick with vague awareness that I should be spending my time more effectively. I stand, inch by inch, my leg muscles resisting my body's weight, groaning and creaking to balance. Reluctant feet cling to floor, as though stuck in inch-deep mud.

I slow my breath to match my steps, allow my brain to put down its worry, just for now, and let me be heavy for awhile.

(A short musical accompaniment at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5EUZsjSvuY