Remember the sounds of laughter, healing medicine. Sheer joy and abandon in play. How did I forget? Jumping up and down, filled with delight. Embodying excitement. Electric.
I recognize my 'serious' is related to fear. That clenching, furrowing, and holding fierce can stop my blood from flowing. My quite rigid mental pose is limiting, unable to expand or embrace another view. Remarkable.
I was thinking about 'worry' yesterday, like a small dog nipping at my heels. Teeth grab hold while I try to sidestep and dance myself away. Unrelenting.
It is Summer Solstice. A time for beginnings, a time for harvest, there is abundance. A friend asked me how I was going to use this. It is so clear to me now, that this is a time to relish. All the beauty that surrounds us, naturally, is still here. When I walk I can see the fruit trees bursting, dropping ripe edibles to the ground as I pass by. Tremendous.
I planted three trees this year, a plum, a pear and a persimmon. I have my own PPP loan in my garden. The heavy plums are leaning the young trunk already, it needs support. Don't we all? Heartily.
I like it when my garden goes a little crazy. Every year I resist 'cleaning' and I allow overgrowth. I don't weed for many reasons and I like the idea that even weeds are flowers. Have you heard this? Some of them, spiky and outrageous, are quite dramatic. Who says they are not beautiful? Now mind you, I am not a gardener (hoping that may change) but who is to say they do not belong? Do they hurt my other plants? Curious.
Just keep writing. Just keep breathing. Just.
I seem to be afraid of messy writing. How I crave beauty and brilliance. I have lived long enough to know that 'my trying to control' anything outside of me is a waste of time. That 'letting go' will deliver tremendous possibilities. Releasing my need for perfection will in fact set me free to explore the wonder I know nothing about. And yet, here I am, fully aware of my editor. Absurdity.
Stop. Go away. Of course I want my creative unconscious to come forth. Of course I want to experience and read my essence - that part of me that is buried, deep down, not readily available, due to those layers. Protection.
I sit here, surrounded by birdsong, fresh air, the gentle hum of neighborhood sounds and I recognize my favorite piece: the wind through the trees. The rush and whirl, the leafy dance, the hearty groan of branches. Naturally.
What was my life before? Riddled with stuff. The heaping pressures and concerns, the blinding effort to feel accomplished. Buried.
All that "from out there" burden, I do not aim to ignore it, only want to resist carrying it. I can feel myself welling with excitement around the small treasures of creativity. They are ever flowing, these ideas to grow the beauty and wonder in my world. So small and so big at the same time. These expressions will carry me forward, balance out, and maybe even nourish, the absolutes. Awareness.
