Posts Tagged ‘bloom’

When Flowers Are Needed

August 4, 2017

There is love to be had.

In the giving.

In the receiving.

How touched I am.

How tearful and over awed and resplendent with feeling.

The gift.

It is perfect.

It is.

You know me.

The gift is perfect because you know me.

It is thoughtful.

When so many others have been thoughtless.

I cannot count the number of times.

Too many to count.

I could use all my fingers, all my limbs.

If I had a nickel for each one.

Well.

Perhaps I would not buy a house.

But I could have a very nice meal.

Very nice.

All the times.

Those gifts from thoughtless people.

Who.

Perhaps were not thoughtless, they gave me a gift, they thought of me.

What they thought of me was not me though.

It was a projection of what they wanted me to be.

You.

Oh, you.

On the other hand.

My magic man.

You see me.

You gave me something full of thought.

Full of heart.

Full of love.

Tender and endearing and whisperwhip sweet.

The puddle I found myself in.

When I opened it.

Abashed and eager all at the same time.

The joy of being known.

It feels like barn swallows at dusk swooping through the air.

It sounds like crickets in the high grass.

It sings to me of warm air at night so thick and replete with moisture that there is

No telling where your skin ends and the night begins.

It smells like lilacs in the high heat of summer in the Midwest.

It is the swelter of blush on my face.

It is everything.

You are everything.

How do you know me so well?

Transparent.

Taken.

And.

Complimented.

 

This love, love.

It is my undoing.

And my completing.

Pressed flowers in a book.

Taken and touched.

Daisychains and garlands.

My heart.

The center of a flower.

Nurtured and nourished.

The translucence of love.

For you.

Simple and sincere.

I bloom.

Unboxing

July 22, 2016

I hear it’s this thing.

This weird little things, where people post videos of themselves unboxing packages, iphones, laptops, Disney tchotchkes, etc.

Although, I think it’s meant specifically for technology gadgets.

I had an official unboxing moment just now.

Except.

Perhaps I should call it an “unenveloping.”

I GOT MY BURNING MAN TICKET!

I AM NOT EXCITED AT ALL.

AT ALL!

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

I’M GOING TO BURNING MAN!

Heh.

Sorry.

Couldn’t help myself.

I knew that the ticket had arrived as I got a message via e-mail that it had been delivered earlier this afternoon while I was at work.

That put a big old smile on my face.

Great big smile.

And there it was, just outside my door, sitting patiently waiting for me, in a brown envelope from UPS in the shared hallway of my spot.

I got it.

I put it on my table.

I hung up my coat.

I returned a few texts.

I lit some candles.

I mean.

Hello.

Ambiance.

Burning Man is sexy, no?

Then.

I delayed gratification.

I ate a sweet, ripe, black plum.

Which, though you may not know is very apropos.

“My favorite fruit is a black plum,” Shadrach told me, biting into a luscious black plum he’d gotten at the Civic Center Farmer’s Market.

Then he told me a story about this little girl in kindergarten who had a very sad lunch and he shared what he had all the while thinking, she can have anything she wants, just not the plum, plums are my favorite.

“Oh!  I just love plums,” she said and smiled.

I can see it.

I can see the sweet inner turmoil of six year old Shadrach.

Then.

He smiles and hands it to her.

I love plums.

Mostly because of that story.

And though it was not meant to be a serendipitous thing, it was, I now realize, the absolutely right thing to do, to stop and eat a plum before I opened my Burning Man tickets.

Shadrach died years ago.

His death is the reason I went to Burning Man in the first place.

He used to host Decompression parties at his loft in the Dogpatch.

“You are so Burning Man!” He would tell me. “You so need to go!”

He was right, he usually was.

But I never quite got it together.

I always was a little behind the ball.

Shadrach was in a coma for a week in the ICU at General Hospital, the details don’t bear repeating, suffice to say, it was an excruciating week and also one filled with so much love and tenderness and family and fellowship and community.

I still feel the ripple affects of that week in my life and in my heart.

He officially died the 30th of July.

One month later I was at Burning Man with a packet of his ashes.

“Do you think it’s too late to go?” I asked a friend at the hospital, “Burning Man, that is, I should go, I should take his ashes there, do you think that would be appropriate?”

The response was a resounding yes, a quiet yes, but a yes nonetheless that allowed the seed that Shadrach had planted years before in my heart to finally crack open.

“Sometimes God breaks your heart open so that you can know more love,” she said to me, quietly in passing as I bawled in a church somewhere in the Mission.

And out of that broken wide open heart grew this wilding wilderness of flowers and fire and magic and danger and excitement and glory and friends and more friends and extraordinary, beyond belief experiences.

This year marks number 10 for me.

Ten burns.

In a row.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Each its own challenge.

Each its own experience.

Each having its own heartbreaks, awakenings, striped raw emotional catharsis.

Always the same.

And yet.

Always different.

Dusty.

Hot.

Cold.

Windy.

Extreme fluctuations in weather, rainbows, rain storms, fucking hail one year, double rainbows, warm nights, freezing cold oh my god I’m going to die of exposure nights.

The year that I had a severe allergic reaction to wood smoke from a forest fire that was so big the smoke was drifting in from hundreds of miles away and I ended up in the med tents getting my nasal cavity washed out and crying like a helpless baby.

All the dancing.

Every year.

On top of cars, art cars, ships broke down in the sea of playa, on my bicycle, in the dust, at the trash fence, at the burn, riding around in sailing sloops, getting a hold of golf carts and riding out into deep playa on art tours.

Going out and taking photographs.

Sunsets.

Sunrises.

Home.

Oh, it’s home.

And I know I sound like a kid, a happy, crazy, woo-woo kid, but I sort of don’t care.

Especially since I went through the heart break of thinking I wasn’t going to get to go.

And now.

Well.

Over the moon might actually be a bit of an understatement.

I was thinking about things today as well, prep and all the stuff and things.

And I realized that I am going to have to really just let it all happen exactly how it’s suppose to happen, to not force things, manipulate things, to go light and bright, easy breezy carefree.

Maybe I don’t co-ordinate with my OG playa family and get my bike back up and running.

Maybe I walk like I did my first event.

Maybe I stop worrying about a tent and just go with the two man that was offered to me.

It’s not like I’m going to be there very long.

The ride, again, will happen, there and back.

I know it.

Things just work out the way they are supposed to.

My heart is wide open and the flower planted there so long ago continues to bloom and unfurl.

The love has not faded.

Only grown deeper, stronger, more entrenched in me.

Grateful beyond words for this experience.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

I’ll see you in the dust.

 

 

Rejection Is God’s Protection

March 23, 2016

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Who knows.

But the date I was supposed to go on cancelled very last minute and it put an odd taste in my mouth.

Tinder fail number four.

Le sigh.

Full transparency.

I don’t need to be on Tinder.

I’m doing pretty good on my own.

In fact.

I turned off the app again.

My person was right.

There is nothing wrong with the app, but I also know when something doesn’t work for me and this is not working.  It was fun.  It was titillating.  It was and appears to really just to be about fantasy.

And.

Well.

This lady has had enough of fantasy.

I like the real deal.

The smash me into the man deal, the full on kiss, the I want you, you’re sexy.

I can have that.

I am aware of my needs and the TInder and the OkStupid, again, I come back to this again, haven’t cut the mustard with me.

It’s fun.

To a point.

Then it seems.

I don’t know futile.

I was actually a little relieved when he cancelled.

I have had plenty on my plate this week and I’m finally feeling like my cold is passing.

A little lingering cough in the morning.

I figure one more day of sleeping in and I will have the little fucker kicked to the curb.

I’m planning on hitting the yoga studio on Thursday and get back into the flow of that again.

I have missed it.

The being in my body, the stretching, the achey muscles.

Yeah.

Ha.

I’m ready for sore muscles.

Too funny.

Full moon.

Spotting this morning.

Ovulated yesterday.

But not the full on roaring hormonal monster that had me in its clutches last month.

Just a normal cycle.

The moon though.

Have you seen it?

Magic in the sky.

I imagine it descending over the ocean and how it will paint the sand dunes white and silver with its light.

Splendid and alive in the sky.

Or perhaps just in my imagination.

A luminous pearl in the velvet sky.

Yes.

I can feel that I am doing better.

My head feels clear.

My heart feels clear.

A touch sad now and again.

But I have that love of richness, that emotion, deep and true and yes occasionally indigo blue jean blue, but so sweet and tender and alive, that I don’t mind.

I have had so many feelings, tender and vulnerable, strong and flexible.

I do feel that I’m coming out of something.

A little darkness and mourning.

And by perfecting my heart truly/I got lost in the sounds.

The opening of the crocus pushing it’s way through the soil, dark, and at first impenetrable, then, the flower bud plunges up and out and unfurls and yes.

I am like that flower.

Fresh as a daisy.

Silly and sunny.

Sexy.

Back to myself.

Out of the dark.

Into the blue.

The sky blue.

The light of day.

It don’t hurt that the rain stopped falling.

A break in the rain.

A reprieve from the storm.

The orchid on my night stand table has bloomed again.

Five times now since I have been here, I bought it the first week I moved into the studio.

Not bad.

It always seems to bloom at an opportune time for me to self-reflect, to see the purity that comes from the gnarled and twisted roots and the glory that faces into the sun and blossoms there from the ungainly and the knots of green.

I remember to not force the blooms.

To not rip open the petals because I want the full beauty.

There is beauty in every stage of the development.

Just like there is with me, with dating, with romance, with love and loving myself and learning what works and what doesn’t.

And not judging myself when I don’t bloom out as fully as I expected.

Sometimes the flowers on the orchid are six, seven, eight blooms.

This time around there were only two.

Yet.

The simple divine flowers floating in the air are such tender white magical things that I cannot imagine that there needs to be anything more.

I don’t need anything more.

Look at all I have.

My simple life.

My sweet space down by the sea.

My dear friends.

My good job.

My school.

I get to live this life, I get to revel in it.

I get to roll around in it and not take it so seriously and lighten up and go out and put myself out on a limb and take chances and change.

Open the door and meet the welcome face there.

Be swept up into the moment and taken along for the duration of the song, carried away, caught for a moment in the in between moment.

The twixt and the tween and see that here too, is still another way to go.

A softening and letting go.

A sweetness and surrender.

Everything must come and go.

Yes.

That too.

So seize the moment, let the life in front of you be joyous, full, and alive.

Being awake is sometimes a tender place to be, but I’m no good checked out, and I’m not good when I am in fantasy.

I am good here.

In this reality.

With all my vulnerabilities and mistakes and terrors.

The fear it fades.

The sun it warms me as I walk towards it.

And the flowers bloom on their own with out me forcing them to open before their time.

There is no there there.

I am the party.

I am the girl.

No.

I am the woman.

And this is my life.

I’m going to keep having fun and dancing in the hallways and crying on the yoga mat.

I’m going to keep showing up.

Going where I must.

And letting go of thinking I know where it should go.

It’s all the same road anyhow.

Even if I often choose the one less taken.

I bet they all end in the same place.

I don’t need to know my destination.

I just know that I’m on the right path.

Free.

Silly.

Joyous.

Heart on my sleeve.

Happy.

 


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