Wild Things

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. Amanda Carrier BlogInstead, 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.  To me, this is not a weed.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.

The Barrier

I am not here to verify.
I am not here to answer

I feel now like I am lying in the ruins of a place long destroyed.  Dressed sparingly, but not cold, I feel like a child confused…but not scared.  I think its all in my eyes…spanning slowly, taking it all in.  I tell myself this will all make sense tomorrow.  And I don’t panic.

Opposites require small distinctions. Never and always are  really just a breath away. I am both here and there, all at once. And it is just a breath away. One choice, and everything alters on a dime.

Water and fire are not alike, but they both destroy.  Small distinctions, and where you see it from is always the question. I am still the same as I was yesterday, except that I am not.

They say most snakes shed their skins once a year.  Losing the hard, semi-transparent skin requires a process.  A barrier is formed between the new skin and the old, requiring this resilient creature to rub itself against rocks until the old layer is loosened from the barrier. Once ready…the snake literally walks out of its skin.

I am in the barrier.  Slowly massaging away this old, tired, semi-transparent skin. Moments of suffocation give way to moments of breath. I am both new and old at the same time.  And i continue to massage, until the rest falls away.

Early on, I thought it would happen slowly and not at all at once. Now I see I will massage, bend, twist, feel…until I get up and walk right out.

For now, I will consciously occupy this place, for it is not fate that brings me here, but will. My will, my choice.  I’ll hold it in the palms of my hands and it will hold me, as though I am in and of this world all at once.