Slowly I feel myself sinking into the earth. Gravity’s pull has no counter of motion to keep it in check. And so it reigns over our days. Until all that remains is a heaviness, a sense of weight carried into the day and out.
I loved gravity from its grounding. It’s anchoring presence. But now I feel it erasing me. Dulling the edges of who I am.
I need motion again. Motion to buoy the atoms of my body and my being. Motion to supply a lifting. A lightness that can unstick me from the muck and the mud that has paused my days.
Who knew we relied on the natural movement of the day so much. The sense of going. We are a restless species.
Always looking to the heavens or the seas or the horizon. For escape or for more, does it matter?
We are built to push away.
So who are we when we cannot. Who am I?
I sink into bed. The blanket of gravity cloaks me, covers me, confines me.
I disappear.
Until the dawn finds me again and pulls me to my purpose.