The first time I went upside-down, knotted up in not-so-silky silks, the world spun out of control, blood rushing to feet, the normal turned into something utterly abnormal. A nightmare where the self was still the self, but with an unaccustomed perspective; I was bound secure, yet  floating not knowing, not understanding where the red exit sign might be. This was reality in a dreamlike vise. This was my heart pounding, blood moving unnaturally. This was the physical manifestation of the anxiety which is frequently reigned in by the medicine, the wine, the exercise. This was the anxiety which makes no sense but makes absolute sense when those thoughts keep chattering, chattering, chattering over one another because they are my voices and they must be right. There was liberation somewhere, as fluid and as graceful as I felt, weightless. There had to be.

The second time I went upside-down, the smooth, nylon-like material accepted my body’s too-earthly weight. Slowly, oh so slowly, I let the material slide and move around my body, holding, wrapping, securing. Anchored to the ceiling by cold, gray metal, the whisperstrength of the material gripped arms, back, ankles, perfect in its timed precision. A bend of a knee, a twist of a foot altered positions; upper torso ethereal, mind calming, emptying. I found strength in my arms, the press of my palms against the ground, supporting the corporeal with light silk binds. There was balance. There was the buoyant push and pull, the airy sway, the familiar, yet with the gut-deep trust. There was liberty in restraint.

​The third time I went upside down​, I was steady, grounded, yet feathery. Weight lost all meaning as I swam through air, felt the reversed rush of blood. A gentle flip, the tightness of muscle, the security of something understood. My head both filled and emptied and filled again. There was..