Heavy Hula Hoop

To you this was an anecdote, but to me it was a metaphor.

Love Letter Day X

I visited friends who had hula hoops. They were fitness hoops. They were tucked away behind a treadmill adjacent to the reclining sofa chairs facing a large TV. I picked up the smaller one of the two weighted hoops, and stepped in to spin. I was immediately exhausted. Naing said, “actually, the heavier hula hoop is easier to use. I can barely spin the light one. Try the heavier one!”

I did, and she was right. The heavier hula hoop was considerably easier to spin around my hips, and a lot more satisfying, hence. I understood what centripetal force was, but here I was learning first hand what it meant. Naing told me I could have the smaller one and I took it home with me. I need a heavier hula hoop.

Writing, music, spiritual awareness; the presence of my soul made manifest in the artifacts of my mind—that is the hula hoop in this metaphor. The body that gyrates is an engine. That engine requires the hoop in order to stay alive. The heavier the hula hoop, the happier my body. The heavier my practice, the happier my exercise. The heavier my art, the happier my work.

I can take more, you know. I can take a lot more. I can take so much more weight. I am waiting for your weight to fall at me, that I might spin us and you would find, too, that the heavier we are, the better it feels. I could hold the entire weight of your body in the perimeter of the hardest working center of mine.