Anxiety shows up in the body as excitement. Or rather - excitement shows up in the body as anxiety. They both tickle the heart, sweats the palms, even shakes the voice. They're a physical response to being ON THE EDGE. The edge of what? The edge of something. Uncomfortable, risky, important, private, radical... the edge of our lava as it nears its burst.
I, right now, am feeling that edge right now.
Days are short, time is slipping... but not because it is short but rather because it is rich. And richness tends to slip from our fingertips if we hold it too tight. The practice of the edge, is the practice of LETTING GO OF THE EDGE. To not hold too tight. To 'zenify' the fuck of it, so the nerves will shed away, leaning only the rare feeling of planting our feet deep in the ground. Being rooted like a tree. Linked forever to earth, and yet standing tall amidst the sky.
I invite the edge in all its glory.
Not because it is the path of richness, rebels and queens and poets and artists, but because in the edge is where one can see both above, and both below. The edge is where we gain perspective. Cruel, brutal, real perspective. The edge is where we learn to SEE. Seeing clearly. With no distraction. The edge is where we jump into our being, into the risk to fail, and the willingness to be heard. But more than all, oh how I long TO SEE.
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman