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close to devotionalism, close to the sky: the salvific power of swings
11th Apr 2011Posted in: Text 2
close to devotionalism, close to the sky: the salvific power of swings

About a month ago, my dearest fiery fairy friend called me out of the blue at twilight on a lovely warm evening and asked: “do you want to go for a walk?” I accepted without hesitation, as I’m always waiting for that sort of request. As with all time with her, it was luminous and heartful and desultory and mellifluous. She is a force, full of insight and momentum. And full of play.

As the evening sky lost the light of earth’s closest star, and the rest of the interstellar crew blossomed in the heavens, we wove our trail along a zig-zag of neighborhood paths feeling the twilight in our bones and chatting about where we were at, what was happening and how the process of being human was at the current phase of the moon.

Truth be told, I was “in it” at the time – mind-bottled, bamboozled, and feeling all widdershins. Thinking about things didn’t help the mental train derail. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking big enough.

As we strode up a hill, she got excited: “Oh! I think this is the street! There’s this awesome swing that I sometimes come and swing on in this awesome yard.” And, there I stood in front of a turn of the century mansion on the Mapleton Hill with a massive wise-tree canopy in the unfenced yard, which supported the most delightful swing. It was one of those saucer types – the ones that look like a frisbee – and this one was low to the ground. No one was looking; it was dark. She took the first ride, leaning all the way back, parallel to the earth not far below, but soaring under the heavens. I was nestled in the grass, watching the glee of a soul in flight. She slowed and dismounted, handed me the line and asked, “Ok, are you ready?”

I was smiling at this point, the and smile only grew bigger as I lay back and felt the pendulum carry me, with a streaming view of starlight streaking through blackened tree limbs. I felt the day’s chill breeze along my animal body and that spark of inner child woke like a fit of giggles. I felt lighter. I felt connected again. It was a small miracle.

Ever since then, I’ve made the swings part of my springtime, as a place to let my feet off the ground and fly under the gaze of Orion and the Pleiades, and the varying shades of moonlight.

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2 Responses

  1. Rhett says:

    Last night I biked past a woman who was occupied by a swing on an otherwise vacant lot. I guess swing appeal is universal…

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