From the Center of the Rope

From the center of the rope, things are surprisingly clear.

Stay fluid. Remember: beginning, middle, and end. Remember this is part of the whole. Grounded on both ends and out of earshot. Beyond the breaking layer of tide. Like the silence of the first hours of morning.

Consider my footing. Consider the wind. Consider the ground. 

At the center of the rope it is me and whatever I hold true, now surprisingly clear and surprising. This is what we have all prepared for: the ultimate attempt to continue our move through space.

All must be fluid but not frantic. Grounded but not white knuckled. Held but not kept.

A choice was made before that first step. Before arriving at the top floor. Before getting into this in the first place. Somewhere hidden, a piece deep inside chose whatever was on the other end. Whatever was waiting at the landing. So precious it deserves this reminder.

From the center of the rope I am detached and everything is clear: All is beautiful and brutal, balanced between what is known and what is hidden away. All is terrifying and OK. And all is held together, here and everywhere. 

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