Lying on the mat at the Y this morning, after an intense core workout and hip stretches, I realized the flatness I've been experiencing all week is just the surface manifestation of a deeper grief.
When Icarus came crashing down into the blue Aegean, his waxen wings melted by the aloof sun, eyes averted from such human hubris, as he tumbled through that turbulent terror into desolate clarity, Icarus finally understood gravity, inexorable as Ananke-necessity, infinitely stronger than any countervailing human effort.
I feel exhilarated when I see photographs of runners airborne, caught in that infinitesmal moment between contact of one foot or another with mother earth stretched out beneath like a patient safety net, holding us safe, whether we will it or not.
Each step that launches me off this earth is a miniature mirror of Icarus' wild flight. And each landing reflects that first and final fall.
When Icarus came crashing down into the blue Aegean, his waxen wings melted by the aloof sun, eyes averted from such human hubris, as he tumbled through that turbulent terror into desolate clarity, Icarus finally understood gravity, inexorable as Ananke-necessity, infinitely stronger than any countervailing human effort.
I feel exhilarated when I see photographs of runners airborne, caught in that infinitesmal moment between contact of one foot or another with mother earth stretched out beneath like a patient safety net, holding us safe, whether we will it or not.
Each step that launches me off this earth is a miniature mirror of Icarus' wild flight. And each landing reflects that first and final fall.
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