The Taffy Pull

I feel pulled and stretched too far by too many hands in too many directions, like taffy. Supposedly it’s the most important step in making taffy, stretching it out and folding it over in half, then stretching and folding again, over and over until it reaches the point of exhaustion. I am tired candy. Willing little taffy pulling hands are lined up wherever I turn. Sticky fingers belong to children, career choices, financial obligations, homework, shopping, meals to cook, fluctuating hormones, unlived dreams and sleepless nights.

All of this pulling is necessary to infuse the taffy with tiny air bubbles, which lessen the intensity of its color and make it light and chewy. I am taffy that had to stay after school. I feel heavy and tough. Deep breath in. Air bubbles to soften my edges. Heaviness out. More breath, less density and I emit softer emotional colors. Another breath, gratitude massages the leathery hand of my toughness with essential oils. I do not choose to follow taffy’s cruel end, to be worked until, having become difficult to pull, only one tap is required and the candy snaps.

I choose instead to now feel the pulling as a gentle ocean tide, a slow motion, organic ebbing and flowing. I continue to breathe myself into nonresistance. All of the taffy pullers are now fingers of the tide, massaging me, giving me the energy to unfold my halved self so that I can lie, fully stretched on the warm sand and take an even deeper breath. Pliable and aerated, I rest deeply in a soft and chewy peace.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009