Laughter is love’s breath and in some cases, love’s absence of breath; when extreme mirth leaves no time or room for inhaling, when tears, for some reason, rush on to the stage of your face, falling over each other in a body pile, stumbling, limbs weak with hilarity. This runaway kind of laughing breaks the rules and leaves the belly with an agenda of total noncompliance, going wherever it wants, commandeering every body part and function for its own purpose.
The very best treasure of life is losing it, when words don’t even have a chance to survive in the deluge of sound gone wild, unbridled joy on a rampage. Trying to escape, phrases explode in to pieces, syllabullus interuptus, creating an entirely new language of the ridiculous. Unaccustomed to the rigors of holding up such a happy face, our cheeks seem to be held hostage, delightfully aching, pushed as close to our eyeballs as they can be.
These bouts of laughter seem to be most often shared with people we love, or at least people we are comfortable with and trust. The relaxation that follows one of these delightful fits can feel as deep as an hour massage and a cranial sacral adjustment. Perhaps, laughing is like a human reset button, most useful in stressful times when our wires are crossed and our circuits have overloaded. We’re more likely to laugh with others than alone, but I find extreme delight when I am pushed to at least giggling, all by myself. My most recent episode occurred yesterday, when after an 16 hour double shift, I arrived home used up, to find my love had made my bed for me, and propped a teddy bear on the pillow, with my reading glasses on, playing a ukulele. The tension of the day released its grip and dropped away when I laughed out loud.
Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009
Laughter is love’s breath and in some cases, love’s absence of breath; when extreme mirth leaves no time or room for inhaling, when tears, for some reason, rush on to the stage of your face, falling over each other in a body pile, stumbling, limbs weak with hilarity. This runaway kind of laughing breaks the rules and leaves the belly with an agenda of total noncompliance, going wherever it wants, commandeering every body part and function for its own purpose.
These bouts of laughter seem to be most often shared with people we love, or at least people we are comfortable with and trust. The relaxation that follows one of these delightful fits can feel as deep as an hour massage and a cranial sacral adjustment. Perhaps, laughing is like a human reset button, most useful in stressful times when our wires are crossed and our circuits have overloaded. We’re more likely to laugh with others than alone, but I find extreme delight when I am pushed to at least giggling, all by myself. My most recent episode occurred yesterday, when after an 16 hour double shift, I arrived home used up, to find my love had made my bed for me, and propped a teddy bear on the pillow, with my reading glasses on, playing a ukulele. The tension of the day released its grip and dropped away when I laughed out loud.
Love is fine white flour after it has been sifted. I remember baking with my mother, in the days before pre-sifted flour, before pre-sifted life. The best part was getting to use the canister sifter with the silver handle. Both hands would grasp the holder and begin the squeeze and release motion that would force the flour to breathe. This resulted in a soft rhythmic metal beat, a world groove percussive base, good sifting music from a curiously shaped maraca.
In the game of sifting, love would always win and spread everywhere,
