"A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear;Although I love you, you will have to leap; Our dream of safety has to disappear." -- W.H. Auden

A friend posted this on facebook recently, and although it's not exactly the story I'm telling these days, it's the leap - and really, the last line - that got me. Our dream of safety has to disappear.

That old "leap, and the net will appear" adage has been running through my mind lately as I walk the rumbling fault lines of my life. Changes are a-comin', some more obviously than others, and I can't quite see the shape they all will take or how they will come about or what I'm supposed to be doing in the meantime to a) make them happen or b) help them happen or c) let them happen.

To be honest, I'm not that worried about it. I'm joyously grateful for all the support I've gotten on my Kickstarter campaign, and I'm having a great time watching it all unfold, living it day by day, getting ready for the Old Fashioned Piano Party on November 7th and my EP mastering session the next week and all the next steps to come after that. But there are moments where it's a little more scary than exciting, and it was in one of those that I started thinking about leaping, and nets appearing.

Facebook also told me recently (perhaps I need to diversify my news sources) of another friend's skydiving adventure... which inspired meditations on that part of the jump, before the parachute opens, that's just freefall. There's a Radiolab episode all about falling, in which they actually play a tape of someone skydiving. The amount of time before the parachute opens is huge. Life-altering. And (from what I hear) exactly what makes you go back and do it again.

Anyway, all of this is leading up to the point of the story, which is this: here I am, rumbling fault lines, meditating on leaping and falling and nets and--- and then it hit me. Just what have I been singing about all these months?

Who needs a net? Just leap... and find your wings.