On a cliff overlooking the Pacific, on the northern-most tip of San Francisco, she finally arrived. She breathed deep because she didn’t need to hide from the air anymore. She felt the earth writhe up to greet her in the excitement of this moment, in a most profound “yes.” Every cell and every nickel of blood said yes. Every exhale and every vibration that moved from her skin to just beyond her, said yes.
“How often do earthquakes happen here?” She asked the affable east-coast native at the massage school.
“Every day. Little ones, so you don’t feel them, but every day the earth shifts.”
Maybe she felt so alive here because the earth was so. Maybe the truest state of earth is actually motion. Maybe the truest law of everything is motion. Shifting, change.
In the desert in summer, she biked out to deep playa and watched the sunrise, wedged between two heart-felt lovers. Everything was so aligned that she could see the earth tipping towards the sun.
Us humans, who once thought that the sun revolved around us, have remnants of that mentality sneaking through our language. The sun never “rises” and never “sets.” The earth moves to greet it, and then again to evade it. This constant pendulum swing of darkness and light, of illumination and mystery – facilitated by a simple axis and pivot. A rotating, a revolving, a spinning, a hurtling through space. The earth’s dance is more rich than we often stop to notice.
On that cliff she felt her body and the earth move into each other’s fields, as two dancers approach the moment of contact. Perhaps this “universe” she’s been co-piloting with all along is actually composed of rock and sand, salt and sea foam. Magma and minerals. Iron and atoms. Star dust.
february 3, 2013