I wrote this post last August 15th and the words keep bumping around in my head so I thought I should repost it. I went to a wine party that night and watching all of the people searching brought this out in me.
Hot August nights, or something more beautiful. I round the corner, he comes toward me, we talk, smile. His words fall all around me, his eyes dart to the side, to the shadows that play there. He also wants to watch the dancers in this elaborate mating ritual.
We move to the deck, the view is better, we see the dancers come together, move apart, disappointed, disjointed, falling away, their smiles fading then reappearing for the next round.
His eyes search my face, looking for what he must find. I know he won’t find it there, but still, I let him search. He asks a question, I hesitate. To take the hand he offers mean letting go of the hand I hold, the one I fall so freely from and to. Will he stop the fall?
Smiling, the lie falls easily from my lips, as I walk away he picks it up and puts it in his pocket to be taken out later, turned over and over looking for the truth.
I realize as I let go of his hand and the hand I have been clinging to, falling is my destiny. Not falling feels like a trap, a death sentence. I was born to fall, gracefully, slowly, bumping into days, weeks, worlds, being held for a moment and left to fall again.
When I forget to fall I struggle to find what I don’t want, then when it has me in its grasp I can’t breath and must be free. I fight against what I fought so hard for, so I can continue my fall, so I can breath again, be me again.
I spread my arms wide, relishing this fall, this time, this moment before I become part of another moment. Living the destiny my mother gave me when I fell from her body and began this journey of falling into the life that suits me, moment by moment.