Spinning Round

     I don’t want to write today because I’d have to write about loving so and so and how I’m so pround of them, they might be really flying out of the nest on their own this time.

     And I’d also have to write about what happens when you spin round and there are strange magnets in your heart and they get buzzes when you are facing certain people, places or things, such that the spinning produces a rainbow of sensations that conspire to keep you spinning, much like a motor. A great humming sound emanates, if you only tune your heart’s ears to the frequency. Lonliness is a cry of need, want, and desire as Jacques Lacan so gratuitously explained, and the differences therein create a vibration. Want pulls, desire envelopes and need (or demand as my cat so often portrays) grabs. The resulting vacuum in each situation conjures forth certain notes that stand next to each other and through harmony and dissonance create a tune. That tune at higher speeds sounds like a humming noise.

     We certainly would love to hear and comprehend that tune, given half a chance, and would love to dance and move in time to it, but usually we would rather not slow down the spinning enough to distinguish the melody. Mortal fear of paralysis (peril) grips us, often enough, when occasional moments of reflection and deep silence afford us the chance to slow it down. Mini riffs from the great concert appear in our heart’s mind’s ears and we gasp audibly at the sheer poignancy of the vibratory relevance, to who we are and to the makeup of our bodies internal momentums and trajectories. For after all, our legs are propelled by their leggy needs, our fingers itch with want to feel the joyous sensations that they did feel at past moments of glorious crafty creation, our sex desires to revel in past dances with goddesses and gods, princes and princesses, kings and queens and scoundrel theives and prostitutes, murderers and assasins, - and equally, our minds playfully need (for yet another example) desperately x, y, and z such as they have grown up to believe -and desire a, b, and c such as they have built an image of which through our years of adventures on solid earth.

     In this way, that great humming sound that emanates mystically behind the veil of all the other noises and silences of so called reality, is both fearful to us and tantalyzingly close. Perhaps that’s what awakens me at 5 am sometimes, and I long to toss and turn a little longer and hover myself in an airship, as I visualize it now, a little closer to the motor spinning. And as the motor spins, grasp in my heart’s eye's mind’s ears just a phrase or two this morning, and a riff and slide and whistle or two tomorrow morning.