falling with ropes.

Bungee jumping isn’t the best way to fall. The idea makes my hair stand on ends, my whole body shudder. That idea of falling, what seems to be freely, turns out as shock as the rope suddenly tightens up.

Perhaps that is not the way it works, yet still that is how it is in my mind. Falling ought to be naturally buoyant, like sea diving with the salt on your side to lift you. Falling ought to be nothing like wearing some great diving bell that pushes you lower as you fall into the sea.

I imagine the ropes, tied to the suit, tied to the pier. And the men that wait like navy officers for the task of their sea diver to be complete. The ropes are tangled, they are pulled by the weight and the sense of oxygen is unclear.

I wonder what I am bound to, and how tightly the knots are set. If I tied them are they easily undone? Or are they strictly taught, as if made by some scout adviser. I wonder where the ropes fall as I do, as I fall freely forward as life unfolds in front of me. As I fall am I tied? Am I easily lifted? Or are the ropes mine to hold?

Perhaps I do have one big ball of string and with my big ball of string I can do anything. Perhaps it is to me to tie that knot between me and the oxygen tank as I fall. Perhaps it is to me to cut that rope, as I dive off the pier that stands a long way off.

And I create a path with my ropes, tying loosely and tight; retying and untying as I manage my lot. The ropes don’t disappear when you fall, they may float like ribbons as you leap, they might just lead you to where you want to be.

But the ropes are a tool, to be used when you need to fall. And be careful in cutting them, or not using them at all.


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