I hold medicine in my hand, but I don’t want to take it. Read about better living, habits, and ways but don’t do it. I buy products and don’t use them, the promise of them working more valuable than trying it to see if they do. The next step remains hopeful by not taking it, my mind powerful in its endless delayed gratification.
In our orchard we laid to rest our loved and lost pets, and last night, bringing compost to the garden, I didn’t walk around that place. For the first time, I walked over the leaves and snow toward the garden where these scraps I collected from daily living will turn in their bin and make new soil, rich and airy and filled with the seeds of new summer living. This place I have walked around, paused by, looked away from, has become the ground now, part of the home I live. Not all things in life are living, some of the most beautiful things are part of the soil of what has been lost. Already lived, still in your life things; the time comes where walking around them stops, the detours drop away as they become part of the gravity that holds you on the path to endless new life.
I dreamed last night I was boarding a plane, my bag packed, haphazardly, unsure if I had everything I backed away from the line to enter and ran back the way I had come, emptying my bag of all things, seeing what I was taking with me. I noticed I had no make up, no need to blur or blend who I was where I was going, yet I had many red lipsticks. I took one, left the rest in a wide hallway, and ran forward to get on this small plane going somewhere.
I don’t need to be many selves where I am going, I just need to honor all of them. To not walk around who I have been, mourning the loss of those many hers that have brought me here. They are part of the new life being seeded right now, always right now.
There is no cure because there is no feeling better, there is simply feeling. Not living doesn’t keep the hope alive that it will get better, it keeps me mourning the things that have already lived. I am going somewhere, but it is not better, the compost of who I have been forever seeding this ever new summered life.
blue solstice 