Swirl. Swirling. Swoosh.
I am so drawn to the energy of the swirl. Again and again I return. Again and again I find answers to my struggles contained within the beauty, the freedom, the exquisitely open-ended swirl.
I imagine dancers gliding across a stage, swirling brightly-hued and silken scarves behind them. The ethereal delicateness of the silk, the aliveness and never-ending variations of blues and purples, turquoise and magenta. One can easily get lost in the delicious dizziness and otherworldliness of ballerina feet leaping, twirling, swirling.
I see cream, swirled into coffee – at first separate, pristine and bright, then gliding into the dark; circularly integrating, spiraling it’s way into homogeny with the thickness. The swirl releasing the bitterness, liberating the pungency. Leaving a softer, creamier version; a viscose that glides down your throat. And therein lies the problem with cream. It is heavy. It is thick. It evokes viscosity, which is the dampening of swirl. So we must return to something light, airy, dreamy.
If only I could live within the clouds, weightless, floating above. But I have had to learn how to descend, to live grounded and within my body. Here it can be a difficult place for me. I associate the heaviness of earth with responsibility, control, pain. It is much easier for me to float away, to sink into the upward spiral. It used to be so easy. A sip of that devilish vodka, and away I was swept. And now, in an odd twist of fate, when the fear starts swirling around me, I no longer hitch a ride into the ether. Instead thickness settles in, precision, control. I trudge and I sludge, all the while frothing control into an ever-thicker gel that holds me captive and prisoner.
How do I enjoy the weight, the comfort of creaminess, the soundness of being grounded, without getting caught in viscosity?
