by julia de rosenwerth
in orbit. the earth is spinning: its own entity in a solar system structured by the sun. around and around the earth moves – relentlessly carving out its path.
and, as you experience it, you are still: constantly connected to the earth and unable to perceive its movement. yet you are spinning, endlessly and relentlessly day after day, hour after hour, second after second. as you stand here, on this ground you are your own axis, carving out your own path (this heavenly body). look up: the sky is back and the stars are slightly out of focus. the earth labours on, reliably, and slowly pulls you into focus. eyelids down, you begin to move ever so slightly from the core of your being: your stomach, your solar plexus, your house.
lowly, your coils begins to turn. pulling. the creek of a large wheel, forgotten or disregarded for a time. the cogs clunk, fitting into one another, but maybe not as perfectly as they had once done. with each clunk they begin to remember the settled feeling of a perfect fit. rust flecks begin to gather in your feet: in the crevices of your toes and the wells of your heels. your body remembers as the cogs start to fit together more smoothly
faster and faster as your centre becomes the place from which you move – your gravity.
you look down and your feet are moving, one rusty swivel at a time. (the eye of the foot) feel the ground beneath your feet. simultaneously drawn down to the centre of the earth .gravity. being spun .your coil. heat inside your body, twisting you as your feet move more rapidly. centrifugal force increases and your arms feel lighter, elevated, flying away from you. spinning, your head is cloudy. the space around you is blurry and the stars in your eyes swish across your decreasing vision. spinning spiningspinningspinnning. spin. the wind is rushing past your face, your nose twinges, your cheeks are full and brushing, your lips carve out a pathway in the increasingly dense space you are forging.
you almost go with the earth now, almost around the sun.
but your orbit is strange, pulling out, but also pulling down. (axis) your pathways create a funnel of air. spinning, but still being held down. held down. down, spinning down (your coil isn’t infinite) as your coil tightens to reach its maximum, your fingers swollen with blood. you are connected to the earth, the core, your core, as you spin, tighter and tighter, lower and lower until in one last gasp, you fall, cascading down, into the earth.
our subtle body continues rocketing down, down, reacting to the weight and force of the fall. but it is attached to your flesh body. your skin cannot penetrate the earth.
your chest tugs as your subtle body rebounds at its lowest point and jerks back into your flesh.
you are on the ground, flat, held down, but also held up. the rebound of the downward force creates a counterforce that lifts you. you are here, now, in this moment, somewhere near the floor. your eyes are closed and all you can do is feel. feel the vibration and dizziness just experienced. a wavering touch.
your body, its edges: less defined, melting into the space around it slightly, like an unfocussed photograph. hovering: like being on a constant inhalation (an almost suffocating fullness). it seems that your limbs are light. you cannot move to feel them, but they are light. floaty somehow. and long. you are much taller than you once were, and light. very light. hovering. floating. inhale, in, in, in.
exhale. you return to the surface of the earth. your limbs have regained some of their weight, some of their touch. the ground is cold and your eyelashes touch your eyelids. you can now feel the comfortable rhythmic cycle of your breath that moves your diaphragm up and down. you are here, now, in this moment.
a body in space.
Image: Alessandra Griffin