I just moved into the cooperative house where David and I will live for the next 3 or more years while we're married and I'm in seminary. As part of the move-in process, I helped two other women carry a futon mattress up 3 flights of stairs. We lifted it onto our heads and the mattress hung down toward each shoulder. I was the third woman in single file; all I could see was the back of the person in front of me.
At first, it was like being in a fort. The soft (if heavy) mattress fell tent-like around me. We were sort of huddled inside; the mattress ceiling was too low, just like a sofa fort.
Then, it was like being on an amusement park ride. As we went around a corner, there was the exhilaration of my head being squeezed between the futon and the walls. We slowed down to go around the turn and then-- free again! Just like a roller coaster slows down before a fast part. Or like a log canoe ride going around the bend in the river.
And as we went up the last flight of stairs into the attic, pushing with all our strength to get through a soft but narrow tunnel, the narrow staircase made me think of being born.