Motion

We are not still.  We are not.  And nothing around us is stationary.  Inside an empty box, the air is alive and always circulating.  Deep in the earth under our feet, water squeezes between fissures and creates unseen rivers.  Below that, a molten core ebbs and swells, fingers at anything within reach.   Even the simple brown stones resting on the plain are alive with motion.  Inside them, atoms are a dither with activity, madly hula-hooping electrons about their core.  The chaos is dizzying.  If you managed to fall inside the brown stone, surely you would end up battered and squeezed through the crazy machinery like Charlie Chaplin through the gears of his factory in Modern Times.

Did you think the stones silent?

Inside is a din!  Imagine the sound of a bag of marbles kicked open on a hardwood floor.  Imagine a snare-drum bouncing down the stairs.

Perhaps you are not small enough to imagine this.  If so, then think big.  The stone is flinging about in the unceasing Earthly orbit, flung ahead and slightly wobbling as it clings fast to the surface with all the greed provided by gravity, which is never want to release anything from its grasp.  Spiraling around a single star, expanding across the universe, the stone carries on.

We, too, are complex and about to burst, even when standing stock-still beside the brown stones on the plain.  Inside, we are filled with hydraulics and mechanical levers and mushy gears and the ultimately more finicky pulses of emotion.  On our skin and within the puzzlework of vital organs, cells nudge at one another.   Fluids circulate.  We take in air.  Process food.  We are sentient and swift.

We are born into motion.  We are born to dance.

(For Kip  Thank you for the conversations!)

--Mitchell Hegman