Today, I’ve been stuck on the absence of things. Emptiness, I suppose, is the realization that things are no longer as they once were. Space unfilled, seems like a void, except it is not. Funny I’m back to thinking about opposites, and amazed to discover that the opposite of empty… is not full.
What lies deep inside my loneliness, is my ability to heal. Like a winter perennial quietly waiting for spring, when things are removed, they are not always gone. Instead, they lie deep inside me…searching quietly for nourishment. Weeds feeding on next to nothing, my roots are spreading beneath and inside me all at once. Extending who I am…reaching out and connecting me to the earth, and to you.
For years, I had six acres of my own land covered in creeping Charlies. I spent hours pulling them each week. My hands tired and pained from the gripping, and of course from the ripping. One day, I came home to my husband spraying them with weed killer. Armed with a pump and a hose, he casually sprayed my nemesis and explained that this would be the only way they wouldn’t come back.
Except that I wanted them to come back. This was my chapel, my ritual, and I tugged and pulled at those creeping, crawling monsters and marveled at their ability to always beat me. I marveled more at how confusing it was to pull and rip at a weed who produced delicate purple flowers.
It always took me two hours to remove all the purple and all the green from front yard. And when I was done, I always knew I would be back. For down below they were already growing, spreading and reaching. Making the connections that would sustain their life. If there is a cycle to this, it always turns on hope, even when we can’t feel it. It feeds on a smile from a stranger, a door held open by the loss that proceeded it, an idea of a promise, the foundation of a second chance.
Until then, I’m trying to respect the silence, even if it is my enemy. In my darkest hour, vacant and alone, I am still sifting through the absence of sound. I want to be inside it, to dance amidst the vibrations that remain, even as you no longer speak to me. I was yours before you loved me, and when you walked away, I am still yours forever more.
Yes, wild things grow on less than a little.