Any
shift in philosophy introduces the need for new habits of body. I am
learning how gently to lift them, to turn them swiftly and rest them
again, on their wings, wings to table, which I sand smooth each
morning. To do it with no fluttering, with as little as possible. It is
a strange gymnastics, their bodies, mine: what to grasp, when to
release, the nature of a turn, the will of the whole channeled into the
fingertips. It takes all my strength. It is necessary to practice, to
imagine myself the moth, my arms its wings, my legs gone.
by Lisa Olstein
published in Jubilat 14
photo by TanyaR via flickr
Robin Reagler 