Yoga Wheel; or, Riding the Binary Cycle
I have two Fulcrum 7 wheels—candy-gloss-red hubs
and rims. They came with the bike. I miss the old days when all components were
silver. I need to let go of the past.
I will say this: someone got the tolerances right.
Go ahead, take the front wheel, pinch each axle end, raise it to your shoulder,
roll down quickly, hold it away from your chest, marvel at the silky spin made
possible by well-engineered bearing cups and races. It’s hard to believe the
Fulcrum 7 is the least expensive in this company’s line.
Last year I retired the Fulcrum 7’s home bike. It
wouldn’t do to decommission these wheels too. They were made to spin. Spin they
surely would. But in what capacity?
I bethought myself of a Thule fork-mount I had
fastened to slats as a mechanism for transporting the front wheel in the bed of
my truck.
I attached the Fulcrum to this device.
I spun it.
Around and around and round and round it revolved
for many minutes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . when upon losing momentum needed to pass the
six o’clock low point, it reversed direction, wound up toward high peak
the other way—to its new limit—again reversed forward/back down/up the circuit,
the circumferential distance decreasing with each change of course . . .
oscillating over the top, honing in, ascending less, descending less, the valve
stem serving as the balance-tip, the focal-node, the micro-load.
I lose track of time. The stem stops at twelve,
the Fulcrum 7 at rest. Where have I been?
My yoga wheel has invented itself. I place it at
the head of my yoga mat beside the little tin Buddha, tea candle, and incense
box. Morning yoga starts when I spin the Fulcrum, ending when the stem stops at
twelve.
Assuming anything stops. Does it? Do we always
marry at noon and divorce at midnight?
¤
Focus on go.
Stop.
Let go of letting go.
Go and stay—our binary cycle, our
backward slash existence:
Start/stop,
bottom/top; up/down, smile/frown; presta/schraeder,
sooner/later; gain/loss, catch/toss; twelve/six, break/fix; empty/full,
push/pull; marriage/divorce, better/worse; husband/wife, death/life.
Turn the yoga wheel
that spins binaries out of, and away from,
and back into uncreated emptiness.
Let the wheel
stop/start, ceasing (or not) to do either/neither at once now and then:
Never ever, forever
again.
Namasté.
Roadysseus
10.27.14
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