Two Infinities:
1. Everything outside
her…
her…
2. Everything inside
her…
her…
Wooden Woman finds
herself exactly in the middle
of everything.
herself exactly in the middle
of everything.
Consider the weather.
From a stirring of
air lifting a hair
air lifting a hair
to supernovas,
a hundred million
times brighter than the sun,
times brighter than the sun,
exuding brilliant
showers of radiation,
showers of radiation,
Wooden Woman, even dozing in
Big Chair,
inescapably partakes of the vast outside…
Big Chair,
inescapably partakes of the vast outside…
…while inside herself
the weather is tropical,
98.6 degrees daily,
with occasional shifts into the
fever range.
Inside weather remains remarkably steady…
the weather is tropical,
98.6 degrees daily,
with occasional shifts into the
fever range.
Inside weather remains remarkably steady…
… despite never
ending crosswinds of joy and angst,
billowed ecstasy and fogged in depressions.
ending crosswinds of joy and angst,
billowed ecstasy and fogged in depressions.
Tears of all sorts
seep across the line
from inside to the outside,
whereby they safely evaporate
up into heaven,
leaving Wooden Woman
seep across the line
from inside to the outside,
whereby they safely evaporate
up into heaven,
leaving Wooden Woman
still here
in the middle
of it all.
Neither ridicule,
nor atomic bomb,
removes her from her
own center stage.
own center stage.
This is not overweening
self-importance,
self-importance,
merely a statement of
perspective.
perspective.
Late one sticky
summer afternoon
a dust devil kicked up dirt
in the field behind the house.
Bruisy thunderheads pressed down
and soon enough a door slammed.
summer afternoon
a dust devil kicked up dirt
in the field behind the house.
Bruisy thunderheads pressed down
and soon enough a door slammed.
In minutes the
soft dust of the garden
howled into a piercing sand blast.
Reeling in windows,
scuttling cushions off the lawn furniture,
Wooden Woman witnessed the
landscape’s
mass exodus eastward.
Lightning and thunder
simultaneously exploded.
OH NO
the trash can lid galloped through the yard and
deftly leaped the fence.
simultaneously exploded.
OH NO
the trash can lid galloped through the yard and
deftly leaped the fence.
HONEY, GET IT! QUICK BEFORE IT HITS THE NEXT COUNTY!
They flinched under another flash and boom.
Engineer dashed out the door, protecting himself
with an elbow over head
and
hand partially shielding his face,
the sand blast now mixed with spitting with rain.
They flinched under another flash and boom.
Engineer dashed out the door, protecting himself
with an elbow over head
and
hand partially shielding his face,
the sand blast now mixed with spitting with rain.
Engineer had told
Wooden Woman
how cows get electrocuted during lightening storms.
Negative
seeking positive.
One is much better off with just one leg on the ground.
Wooden Woman
how cows get electrocuted during lightening storms.
Negative
seeking positive.
One is much better off with just one leg on the ground.
RUN HONEY RUN!
NOOOoooOO WAIT, COME
BACK!
BACK!
But Engineer had disappeared
into the dust down the fallow row of the farm next door.
FlashKABOOoooooOOOOm
echoed down the valley. Again.
And again.
into the dust down the fallow row of the farm next door.
FlashKABOOoooooOOOOm
echoed down the valley. Again.
And again.
Worse than
thunderstorms or trash can lids
(leaves and debris still hitting the house)
is
realizing the exponentially greater loss now at hand.
A storm of
guilt throbbed inside.
Wooden Woman
wandered back to the window
as if leaning her forehead into the glass
could
dispel remorse. A minute, ten…
thunderstorms or trash can lids
(leaves and debris still hitting the house)
is
realizing the exponentially greater loss now at hand.
A storm of
guilt throbbed inside.
Wooden Woman
wandered back to the window
as if leaning her forehead into the glass
could
dispel remorse. A minute, ten…
…BAM the front door
blasts open.
blasts open.
ENGINEER charges in
holding high an extra large round pizza
cardboard
(same color as the trash lid)
that he’d chased a quarter mile toward
town.
*
Storms.
Outside. Inside.
Caught in the middle
every time.
every time.
We can do no less.
Wooden Woman calls
this the paradox of body and soul.
this the paradox of body and soul.
Her best advice: Make the stories good.
Do good.
Be good.
Laugh at yourself.
*
“Humility is the luxurious
art of reducing ourselves to a point,
art of reducing ourselves to a point,
not to a small thing or a
large one,
but to a thing with no size at all,
large one,
but to a thing with no size at all,
so that to it
all the
cosmic things
are what they really are
—of immeasurable stature.”
—GK Chesterton
all the
cosmic things
are what they really are
—of immeasurable stature.”
—GK Chesterton
*
* * PS no wonder
everyone wants to write a book.
They find themselves right in the middle of every story.
everyone wants to write a book.
They find themselves right in the middle of every story.
In media res. Center stage . . . without apology. How freeing to shuck off M.O.R. as a cultural notion of mediocrity or ennui or cowardice and, by golly, just celebrate it. Like the continental divide's view of weather for the soul today. Thank you!
An interesting piece that I enjoyed reading.
Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
Oh, that last line — perspective ever encircling us — maybe infinity is a circle.
I love how every paragraph, every photo is a stamp of position, the infinities barbells on either end. I feel the balance bar in my hand, something like honor and gratitude anchoring me in the middle.
I love. Wooden Woman for this, the invitation, the gentle arm around the shoulder to join her.
Love.
I was caught up in the action of your photos as well as words.
the middle is where we are…spin too far to any one side and you will be out of balance…yikes on the storm frying cows…and going out in it…it is oft a matter of perspective…and keeping that internal temp in check…