Are You Moving?
Are you moving?
Asked by a small child, indistinguishable behind his hermetically sealed winter clothing. He was being ferried up the gentle slope by a moving sidewalk; I was standing alongside halfway to the top. His goggles were pointed in my direction and he was as tall as my waist.
I’m not, but you are, I replied.
He kept his head pointed in my direction for a minute. I suppose trying to figure out the relational dynamics of movement. Am I, or are you? his brain was asking. What is my reference point?
“The mountains didn’t answer so instead he asked me. I was there to say no, my dear, don’t worry. You are moving. I am not.”
The real question was where am I in space? Being momentarily suspended from the surety of agreement among all five senses will do that to you.
It’s funny how in just one moment, you can take leave of something that you’ve existed within your whole life. The same skin that has stretched over your growing bones seems to not be able to contain you. You are deeply and fully unseated and exist an inch outside of your body.
It was unsettling enough for this little boy to ask a stranger where he was. To grasp at any frame of reference he could find. He looked at me, at the white mountain in front of him, at the houses perched atop the nearby hillside and asked each of them – perhaps not out loud – if he was advancing or if they were.
The mountains didn’t answer so instead he asked me. I was there to say no my dear, don’t worry. You are moving, I am not.
You are the one growing, certainly in size, and I am here to watch you go. I am here as the anchor. When you can’t find your feet, I am here to say, it’s alright. You’re headed up the mountain. I’m here at the waypoint to give a piece of reassurance wrapped in certainty.
But it wasn’t one-sided. He gave me something in return because while answering, my feet took root in the ground. I was a visibly useful foundation and it gave me the pleasant kind of weight that comes from the first few moments of wakefulness, when your feet hit the ground but muscles are not fully functional yet.
He moved, I stayed. This will be a cycle repeated for him and his adults, for me and my children.
So yes, my dear, you are moving. May you continue to. Look back for me anytime and I will smile and send you on your beautiful way.
Inspired by events in Summit Park, Utah
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