Sunday, July 7, 2013

Dance on the line

It's a thin line between life and death. Life requires from us to dance on the line, even if the music is not appropriate or really crap. Crappy music causes the rope to swing. Can be fun.
Funambulating implies keeping your balance with no other means than focus.
Some people use drugs as a balancing pole, but I prefer to be unfettered from expedients.
Keeping the balance means moving forward and backward, focussing on straightness – with the sideward movement being just a variation in the process. If you can find stability on a string made of air, your steps will get easier, faster and lighter. The heavy-loaded, however, have a tendency to fall. They crush through the net and eventually might meet death. But life also allows to climb down and take a rest in the arms of others. Premised, there are others.





The rope under the feet of castaways, witches and bitches presents itsself thinner than any other rope, without granting a resting place except for their hidden cave. No company, no admittance. No net, but sharing cushion with destiny. No cake, but self-healing. No trust. Trust can kill.
You might stumble from a single hit, and fall. Death's door is always open, just crawl inside. It takes some effort to not listen to his seducing song and pass the door.

I have been struggeling with balance in the past weeks. Fought the luring deep, tried to drown the song with silence and bustle, imitating the world around me, but lost hold after a well-aimed kick.The net under my rope, though, is a thin veil, woven by handicapped people and by my two horses. Any time I loose balance, they cure my fall, knowing everything about the pain of broken hearts and humiliation. The walls of my cave are bolstered with gratefulness for their small signs of care.




“When we can do nothing else, we can still love, without expecting any reward, or change, or gratitude.” (Paulo Coelho)
Love is no drug. But a balancing pole.

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