I Tumble
Day after day. Play after play. Move after move. It really felt circular. Progress. Progress. Progress. Then arrival at start again.
There comes a point, or more commonly there never comes a point, where enough is enough. The lure loop I call it. Running. Running. Running. Yet suspended in air: the effort equal; the progress unnoticed.
Ripping, thrashing and grabbing. “What is happening here!?” Ripping. Thrashing. Grabbing. There must be an invisible cord, a removable device, something has to stop this.
As I ripped, thrashed and grabbed at the world around me, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” I screamed. Screaming at anyone that could hear. Screaming at the world around me. Screaming at the gods.
Then, screaming at myself, I stopped. Then, it stopped. Stillness.
In this stillness it became clear: I would start again. It would start again. In the stillness laid opportunity and choice. It would soon begin, again, but in the stillness this became clear.
It always ends. It always begins. What is it? It is our choice. The constant is constant. The choice is variable.
The choice of stillness, for now.
In my stillness, I would sit. The more still I remained the more the world around me became visible. The world around me twisted and twirled, bloomed and blossomed, gasped and died. Over and over. Again and again.
I would soon choose action over stillness, again. It would soon begin, again.
Always choosing. Never ending. Stillness and action.
Through The Grand Labyrinth, we tumble.
I tumble.