Those of you who have been reading my work for a long time will know that if I have a spiritual connection with any animal, it is with the humble snail. They contain soft and hard, vulnerability teamed with resilience, patience and the ability to turn my patio into a shimmering ice rink of silver trails. The spirals they carry everywhere with them are symbols of infinity, and these shapes seem utterly perfect to me. DNA forms itself into spirals, and many astrophysicists now think the universe is shaped like one too. Imagine carrying a tiny universe on your back!
text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017
Of meeting, of feasting, a celebration of tabernacles. A place of prayer, a sanctuary for the nomadic Ark of God, for the pegged out, for the stretched and straining of ropes and heartstrings, pulled too tight, the object and the subject of love with taut fingers reaching, far apart. A place to hide an inheritance, to fall down disrobedly drunk and disorderly after the first fruits fermented in the full spectrum of the rainbow, somewhere to woo the beloved, keep sacred chalices or feed angels in disguise.
Somewhere to understand impermanence, movement, displacement, somewhere to escape the fear of knocking, envelopes and officials. Here is freedom perhaps, smoked in a pipe of peace, found in a sweat lodge, a circle of joining outer and inner, staying and going, stillness and dance: all life is here, spiralling out from the centre.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015