Exorcizing the Labyrinth's Lure

Sometimes, when it is really hot outside, or when you are really running (in panic or exercise), you can feel a bead of sweat slip down in between your breasts. Or pecs. Or both. Or all.  And when it drops, it always surprises me.  I always find myself with an idiot's wonderment of where, exactly, it is coming from, and feeling silly that the sensation surprises me.  As if someone has dropped slightly warmed water down the front of my shirt, or the clouds have decided to rain upon me starting with the exact center of my chest.

In any case.  I've been thinking about how our bodies can surprise us.  Within and of themselves, and in the way they react to others.  People. Scents. Sensations. Colors. Memories. Sounds.

Have you ever noticed the exact moment you became turned on and the cause of it?

One day while checking in materials at a library, I came across a book of interest.  When I flipped through it, my eyes caught on the bold print of a section of a chapter in a book.  With the tug of these darkly printed words, my body was instantly flooded with impulses and want.  It was, incredible. Memorable. Savorable. The name of the book it was in is Italo Calvino and the Compass of Literature.  The name of the section of the chapter within this book that left me in such a state, in bold, is atop this entry.


Standing on the lip of the dirt green hedge maze that beckons,

k.

(image: Val Telberg)