Winding and unwinding

The patterns of language are often hard to understand. Think about the word "wound." Without hearing it, you cannot tell whether I mean the result of winding something up or the result of hurting someone. In some way, it seems, getting all wound up is close to being hurt.

And yet sometimes it feels terrific to be all wound up, to be wired, to be on the edge of something exciting. And sometimes being unwound is like being deflated, a draining of potential energy.

Wind. Another confusion. The breath that turns and spirals, creating both tension and life.

Without winding, no energy. No potential for the spiral to create or generate. No spring.

Spring. A leap. A season of growth.

Without winding, no spring. Without spring, no fall. Without fall, no wound.

The patterns of language are strangely intertwined.


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