I imagine the hoop as a window or a door used to jump, roll, skip, and duck into new worlds of motion and grace. Like a cosmic juggler, I whirl reality across my body, tumbling in and out of the sacred circle. Inside the hoop mind, gesture, and possibility are swirled together until they’re impossible to separate. I launch my intentions into the air, and then catch them with a spin as the hoop zooms back down to earth. I watch my friends through the hoop’s window, making a neighborhood near the place I stand.
Through the hoop I’ve discovered new worlds, valleys of fabric behind my left knee…a piece of sky perfectly framed…kingdoms of ants building towers in the dust. This galaxy is full of sound and motion as words, like light, hop from lips to spinning surfaces. I have befriended a tribe of dancing astronauts, but like any form of intergalactic travel, hooping is risky. I am challenged to anticipate the hoop’s current or frustrated by my inability to flow. Some days, prepared to step into bliss, I trip over my own feet. Like a window looking out into night, my hoop goes dark. The door becomes a mirror and my reflection blots out the sky. Some days my hoop clatters into walls, shattering my aspirations of greatness and grace. Those humbling moments put the whirling universe into perspective. I realize my own smallness in comparison to the vastness of the circle. Instead of being discouraged by the realization, I find myself oddly comforted. I am a dust mote spiraling outward. I am only beginning. Gazing out into the vastness beyond me, I glimpse a reflection of the dancer, mother, and teacher I become on my very best of days. I pick up my hoop and the journey begins again.
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