2005-01-26 - 8:25 p.m.
Gravity i. A house was torn down at the top of our street.
I left it standing one morning as I set off to work –
I came home to a gaping hole in the earth.
Hole and machinery steaming in sub-zero weather.
Construction on the property begins at 8 every morning
and I can feel our own house shifting,
windows rattling in their weary frames,
concrete floors transmitting vibrations all the way from the basement
to my top-floor bedroom, shaking me from sleep. I race to dreams every evening, trying to outsmart the machines,
but always they wake me before I wake myself.
ii.
Walking in the city has become a series of Chaplin-esque dance numbers,
skittering sideways to regain my balance
on walks that would be better served by ice skates. If I lose my balance and fall again,
will our bruising be symmetrical? Is it already?
iii.
I blacked out four times during my yoga practice last week,
all during the standing postures. The teacher –
and my fellow students, I'm sure – mistook my clumsiness
for a wish to fall too quickly into the posture; I folded as I did
because I had lost my sight and could hear only ringing in my ears.
I could not feel grounded in Samasthitih –
my toes had forgotten how to grip the mat. Everything is uprooting.
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