On what is happening now –
I’m learning that life is strange, and has a way of bringing people back around to you. Of course, this is not in fact a given, but in the rope world friends don’t really seem to leave forever. Maybe that’s just because Boston is one of those black holes people get sucked back into. Maybe its because life is a small town. For whatever reason, I got to see an old friend again recently, and tie her.
It was a good break from my usual wandering. Not in any metaphorical sense, but wandering in the practical aimlessness of it. My strategy for life has evolved to one where I simply start walking. I trick myself into productivity by letting my body move before my brain catches up. And so here I am, out on familiar trails that I somehow still know the rhythm of – just me and the trees.
Among the familiar is new as well. New work – physical and analog. I stumbled my way into a digital detox of a kind, putting my phone away for a good part of the week to focus on what’s in front of me. And I put down my rope, too. Not for long, but in the past few weeks I haven’t even thought about it. That is the new part – the mental break from rope in concert with the physical break.
There’s something uncanny in the realization that you have buried a part of yourself, for however short a time. Like when you come home expecting to see the family dog who’s been dead for years. It’s easy to forget – and then you feel strange for forgetting. Or you wake up from a nap in someone else’s bed and catch yourself thinking for a moment you’re somewhere else. Or that the house you used to know has fallen into disrepair, and you can happen upon it in the woods. Uncanny.
Or that you can pick up the conversation mid-stream. A familiar book opened to a random page – where the story is resumed. That is how it is to tie old friends. A hand fitting easily into a glove.
We started with a long warmup – as I almost always do. Tying and untying in an organic way. Testing the range of flexibility, the tension in the body and rope. I had a completely different shape in mind but found that Jersey moved in an interesting different direction that I could follow. So we went for something more horizontal.
One thing which may not be clear from the photos is that I have a strong preference against adding new uplines. Although I tied on this half monoblock, I never added an upline specifically for it. Instead, I first lifted it using the leftover rope from the chest harness’ upline, and then when I decided to lower the chest, I made sure to tension the half monoblock using the remaining rope from the futomomo’s upline. There is something I like in this technique – it forces you to think about separate parts of the tie as a set. This keeps me honest, and makes sure I don’t accidentally drop all the weight onto the waist – since I need to untie it before I can get to the futomomo.
As we made our way to the ground I felt there was an opportunity to play in a partial. I used the rope from the blindfold to pull Jersey into a back bend. Though it is not the most dramatic shape, when someone follows the pull of the rope with their neck instead of their middle back, the position becomes intense very quickly. Their breathing becomes impaired and you will need to watch carefully to ensure it doesn’t become too much. We lingered here for a few long breaths and then came down – first by releasing the neck, then the feet, then the chest.
Thank you so much Jerseyb0und for the chance to reconnect and tie! And thanks always to Pinchinawa for the use of his space and all the other friendly things ~
I am still convinced this can be a poetry blog as well as a rope one – so we will end on one about how life is these days.
A pea-green daydream Take comfort in destruction now That beavers conjure, pond from field - And come each year to gnaw and work the same tree dead. Who lingers on, or falls instead. It can be counted as a marker, on the trail you’ve run for years Back into memory, green and childish - now the greenhorn, “rookie” called, when she forgets to grab the silver. And you- the aging house gone caving in, like teeth freed from a mouth - Misshapen by your craft, the crooked fingers and a limp, from one leg favored all these years. A cocktail poured and given freely, perks of this, your thankless job. The heating bill you can’t afford, but you will learn the lesson of the day - To wait. As the machinery churns, what shoes to wear, and where to stand. How not to love the man behind the bar, just transference. An old mistake to love the bell that signals food, and call it love, when only making it is true. Or how to simply cry, or not against the hands that knead you. Touch, a pain infused with kindness Little dangers, hands and fingers. Crooked, from years on the job, inspected - held, and kissed. And that there is a way to come, Home. Though it dissolved in green. But still the tree stands, and the man behind the bar is sober. And he will take confessions too.
boshai 