Wanderful.

I circle my jar of spiders. Out of sheer exhaustion, I take off the lid and slide in. I tell them to go ahead, eat me alive.

Still, I’m haunted by implications. Something whispers that I’m only living half a life. And the half I’m living is coming way too fast. I’m on the down escalator trying to run up, but no matter how fast I run, I stay in the same spot — always a little agitated, a little lost, a little hungry.

Me, I’m the emptiness inside the jar, though the jar itself has vanished. I’m spacious and peaceful and vast. I like this place. As always, I resolve to remember what a relief this is.

As usual, I forget and get trapped outside again. Circling the jar.

~ Margit Hesthammar, New York Times
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