What I Know

For just one day,

one. day.

I wish that I could pause.

The reason I fear spiders is because I work the same way as they do. There is no single thought, no single experience, no single moment in my life. There is only web.

I spiral and connect and get torn apart by wind and time and forces too large to comprehend. I often find myself floating on the dying thread, trying desperately to get back to center.

And I get there. And I spin. It is so much a part of my essence and my being that I am only able to recognize it in glimpses.

Very very rarely, perhaps only a few times in my life, I have been down and out to the point that the web loses its symmetry- the arrangement of its complexity.

And then that night comes.

The kind of night you begin with the resignation that it will be lost in the pile of countless evenings. But the right people are there, the right experience is there. And you fall asleep with the vague awareness of preemptive nostalgia.

It is not the adventure that settles it. It is the sense of unity. The feeling that you remembered how to spin, and that it is beautiful. And especially, it is beautiful because of the sadness it comes out of.

I do not yet have enough years to know if that is the soul of youth or simply the soul of life. Maybe I am not meant to pause. Maybe the need to spin is a reminder of how incredibly I am alive.

Maybe spiders have it figured out.