Spinning, Spinning, Spinning

Around and around he goes. He's spinning faster and faster. Perhaps he will fall down. Perhaps he will throw up. Most likely he will do both. He has no care in the world, no responsibility to anyone, only to the spinning. He could stop but that would let the spinning down and he cannot do that. So he continues on, ignoring everything and everyone. He can hear the wind going past his ears. He can hear the scrapping of his feet on the gravel. He is one with the universe, the spinning universe, and he hears all.

Except for his father screaming his head off for the 14 millionth time telling him it's time for him to knock off the god damn spinning and get his butt in gear. This, apparently, he cannot hear.

As he spins he can hear ants marching toward the gold fish crackers that are slinging from his pockets. He can hear the flowers growing, their buds ripening and opening up to the sun, which he can also hear as it heats the world. He can hear the birds in the sky navigating their great migration.

He cannot hear his father start cussing to himself about how his own boy tends to ignore him like some sort of insignificant gnat.

He has transcended self. He has gone past space and time. He see's the future, the cities that will come, the cities that will go. He see's the past, the wonders that cease to be and the wonders that never were. He is spinning, spinning, spinning. As he spins, he see's all.

But not his father who has begun to stomp toward him, still cussing and muttering to himself, and who's hands are now punctuating the air as he slowly goes crazy. His father is not spinning.

The little boy spins faster and faster and the feelings now start to come. He feels the rotation of the earth and is in sync with it. He feels a little sick but not the same way as other people. He feels sick because he feels the pain of the world. He is everyone. But he also feels the joy of everyone in the world and it almost overwhelms him. He stumbles but the spinning corrects him, holds him tight, and encourages him to go on.

He cannot feel the crackers that his father is now throwing at his head as he is spinning in a futile attempt to get his attention. He cannot feel his father's frustration as he looks around for a water hose to douse him, hoping that the shock of cold water will bring him back to reality.

He spins but begins to decrease his speed. He comes back to himself, he leaves the metaphyscial world behind. The blurs start to slow and become shapes. The wind decreases in his ears and other sounds start to become coherent. His trance is ended. He looks up.

He see's his red faced father in front of him, almost in tears, and apparently in mid lecture. He doesn't know how it started but he hears how it finishes: "If you stop to spin every 10 feet you are going to be left behind! For Christ's sake boy, let's get moving!"

Yes, moving. His father is right, as usual. It's time to start moving again. But not here, this spot has lost it's magic, the vortex is gone. He walks behind his father for another 10 feet.

He stops again.

He spins.