Skip to content

The World Navel

June 6, 2010

contributed by: Cole Hanson

World Navel

The world navel twists, curls, and sends its spiraling roots deep into the center of things. Arranged like lungs, the pair are entrenched, motionless like the Buddah. The twin is looking beyond the sky, and shortly before the reaches of the universe, peers directly into…

“Ah, fuck this! Never mind. I had attempted to weave (and trace said weaving) with some purpose and – scratch that… I’ll begin again. ‘the orchestra that breaths together, plays together.’ Inhale with me, and best you take a deep one… SPRINT!”

Those tangles, of winding roots to the crudely cut cruel trees are replanted at the navel, the center. They stand there, stained, with sadistic symbols of saviors crucified on its front. Radiating the essence of life, the ascribed power ripples in a sadly blissful energy. Dipping ankles into this river of blood (a fountain that is said to have many other sources mind you), the people of all the world connect to each other and tap into what they conceive as their collectively found meaning. Drawing life giving motivation in their refreshment cocktails of purity, their piety is made complete. Ready to race down highways straight out of hell, the overpasses confusingly twist, as all things do along their ways. Passing dingy fast food joints , later enjoying their tofu and gritty rice. Gather bits of knowledge handed out by the roadside preacher who at that precise moment was reaching the climax of his message.

“Damn it! Tracing these nonsensical (but mysteriously beautiful) ideas of navels, entrenched centers – many branched with ancient roots. The snaking symbols, syllables, sentences, sentiments… they carry notes of the talking points (given by our friend, the roadside preacher) which we all attempt some wonderful application to our lives for meaning making and discovery of purpose. Right here at this precise point in the woven work, I too wish to establish my grand climax. But alas, though the world will go on turning, circling that blessed center, I shall end without fanfare. Death, this form before you will cease to be and it will be without perfect resolution. Save that there must be some worth in my effort. I’ll struggle along this journey and hope that the process will count for something.

“In that tension, something, perhaps it’ll resemble the spirit of your humble author, will live on. Ah, the center of things. Fin – spiraling.”

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: