This Saturday I attended a dinner and auction to benefit the Westchester Land Trust–one of the many responsibilities of my job. The party was beautiful, and the cause a worthy one, however, all the pennies in my purse and bank account would not have equaled the sum of even an opening bid on any of the items. The excitement of a live auction–that one cannot participate in–wears off quite quickly, thus, leaving me to the entertainment of my own humble affairs.
Pinot and the Pea
During dinner, my co-worker, Sarah, managed to drop a pea from her plate onto the table. Pea upon table, glass upon pea, the evening proceeded with a series of sips that shuffled the pea around our section of the table, beckoning the glass to follow. I watched as it became an unconscious game. Wherever the pea rolled, it’s resting place dictated the point upon which the axis of the glass belonged. The conical base of the wine glass peaked just enough to perfectly house the un-squished pea. Compelled by a gestaltist force, the fiftieth assembling of these puzzle pieces was as pleasing as the first. I may not know where each of the pieces fits on a larger scale, but for one night something in my life had a definite place of belonging.
And it is probably more telling than even I know that this “place” was never the exact same twice. Equilibrium is relative to the elements of the condition in which homeostasis is sought. And when working with congruent pieces, right is right, regardless of location.
Obviously I had way too much time to entertain myself at this event. I blame my empty wallet for the excessive acquisition of theoretical wealth from an evening with a pea. But let this be a lesson for the Princess in perspective; centering oneself is not the same as placing oneself in the center. Remove oneself from the center, find room for the pea, find rest.
