by Natalie Robin
I never fail to get motion sickness while reading in a moving vehicle and so yesterday, without fail, while riding the train, I looked up from my book and out to the whizzing, lengthening, peripherals of the landscape with an agitation in my stomach and a frustration that I had to pause from my reading. I thought about why this happens; the inside of your ears dissatisfied with your eyes not moving from a point, sending signals to your body that make you ill–and in turn demanding, “Look up”. Look up, I thought, and as I let my eyes move with the train, these thoughts brought a sensation over me that overrode my sickness; my sickness, turning into a ballet, an ever-so-delicate and imperative balance; disturbed by only a misstep, acutely perceived by the audience, in and of a body. My sickness was beautiful. I found myself in awe of the body and of bodies, at the mind and of minds, of ears and eyes and at the infinitesmial kinks responsible for affecting an entire system of small, shadowy clocks that produce only one time, one unknown and uncertain time that results in a very definitive ending for everyone, eventually, though thankfully for now, I am only sick.