Standing in the center of the old gymnasium,
soft light seeping through the windows high on the walls of stone, I juggle one
thousand basketballs. The capricious orange spheres float in the air, up and
down, sometimes caroming off of the high ceiling, almost but never touching the
once-shiny wooden floor.
I ask the one thousand basketballs to
settle, to find a roosting spot. They drift
down one at a time, several all at once. There is silence as they come to
rest. Some of the basketballs do not
move downward, but continue to float and bounce. A few rise from the floor as high as my head. “Hush little ball, time to settle, if only
for a few moments,” I think. “Sink down
onto the floor.”
I stand alone, silent and still in the
midst of one thousand basketballs. They
lie at my feet, some still agitated, like babies who do not wish to nap and
struggle to stay awake. I try not to
look or pay attention to the recalcitrant ones.
My gaze turns upwards, away from the one
thousand basketballs. The roof of the rock gym is very high; the light pleasant
and soft as if dusk is approaching. My mind is quiet and my soul lightened. I remain unmoving as long as my mind
allows. I turn in a circle inch by
measured inch, stretching out my arms as if they are moving through deep, blue water,
feeling the lightness of my soul as it dances through my body. If I stay here
long enough, I find bursting love and contentment at the center of the dance.
My arms float down to rest at my sides
as I stop turning. My eyes open to find the soft light in the high windows. I
feel movement around my feet as the balls begin to stir, rising with a
languidness they did not show before. I acknowledge them with a softer mind.
They begin their gentle bouncing, now less frenetic. Our movements have come
into symmetry, the beginning of another dance. It is time to leave the rock
gym.
It is strange that I come to this memory
to find balance, stillness. The rock gym
is not a place I found silence or peacefulness in my youth. Yet, I return often to let the one thousand
basketballs find rest and my soul to find a few sacred moments of meditation.
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The rock gymnasium
of my school years, grades five through twelve, was where gym classes were
held, basketball games played, health and art classes met in the odd-sized
classrooms both downstairs and behind the balcony seating area.
The unique
structure was built in 1939, a WPA project of the era. Neighbors brought rocks from their fields and
yards to the school site, as well as wood for the construction. It still stands as I remember it, now listed
on the National Register of Historic Places.
