Ever since I was a little girl, I yearned to be good at something, anything, but I never quite knew how to go about it. I was never shown by my parents that I was worthwhile.
There is something I need to share, I was alive and that is about all that there is to say about it. At least that's something huh? I guess one could say with a weakened voice, 'perhaps it was better than nothing'??
I sit here in my writing room and I begin to write on this piece of paper (my computer is my paper now) something seems to be in need of writing, my thoughts are circling within me. I want to write them all down.
I have felt this way before, especially when I was in love and wanted to put things down on paper, so they wouldn't be lost and forgotten. There is this sort of hush in the air and the stirrings feel like a gentle breeze coming over me. Like silent leaves falling. It seems strange that I notice these things. It's as if they have special meaning for me.
Many afternoons I would sit wondering what would become of me. Would I turn into an old woman in an old wrapper dress with curlers in my hair? But I tell myself this saying “The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave only once”. I knew I had to give up the feelings that people didn’t like me. I must! I had to **** my fear of people and life, before it killed me.
“The world is a world into which you were meant to be in”. I heard this soft, quiet voice say to me. It was if I was speaking to an invisible child, very strange, yet beautiful. I wanted to be soft; yet brave. To be a part of the sacred, beautiful things in life. To glisten with imagination. To see the beauty in a wild deer. To learn of all the ancient ways of life. To learn the feelings of safety; of constant love, so I wouldn't feel like I’m in a boat on dark rivers without a paddle. To be able to see the magic of animals carrying their tiny young in a forest. scented land. Silent, yet so alive, sitting in the underbrush looking out at the moon and stars.
There is a part of me that wanted to be wild too, like the animals protecting their young. Something so tender, yet untamed. But really, I know that wild animals are also helpless too, just like I was as a child, like we all are as children; so dependent on others for love and care.
I didn't want to remain like that scared child. I wanted to be a lady warrior, glistening with love and life shining down upon me. To be able to soar on wings of an eagle... brave and free. To be able to see the world as a beautiful place, but still know of its dangers without feeling like I couldn't navigate in a storm.
These secrets I kept within myself; hanging onto them like a leaf that hangs in a tree. It seems possible to me that perhaps all people at some time feel this way. You can tell by looking at some people that the world remains like a stone to them, with closed doors. I wanted to be an open door; a flower, not a stone. I was afraid it would not be like that for me. Perhaps after my child self would grow old, then everything would harden and become small; like my small, closed, childhood doors. Like it was back then.
So I'm thinking that perhaps I would have a hard time remembering all these things. I wanted to write about them, so my life could still show and have moments of wonder.
I've been sitting here, listening to a livening seed within me. A slightly, fermenting seed that still wants to be alive. Alive with its own movements and filled with wonder. Like an orchard blooming, with each new blossom different and alive with energy.
Why should I feel this excitement as an older, grown woman now? Yet I can still be excited. My orchard wants to bloom soundlessly into a fruitful tree. I don't want it all to go away from me. My light will someday be falling upon darkness and there will come a time when the doors will not open again. The sprouting of new blossoms will cease and the movements and wonderous openings will be gone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WOW...when did this happen? I have now become that older women in the old, wrapper dress, so I try to write my thoughts down on slips of paper. Trying to preserve this time for myself, so that afterwards when everything is gone, I can remember who and what I really was, who I became.
There is a time in the spring of our lives when we shine. When we bear new, live fruit every day. There is also the time in our lives when autumn comes and our leaves begin to fall. But we can still be jewels in this world.
So I say to myself; "Lie in the sun with the child playing in your heart shining like a jewel. "Dream and sing, you pagan", I say to myself. Be wise in your vitals. Stand still like a fat blossoming tree. Rise up like a stalk of corn throbbing, glistening green and yellow in the heat. Lie down like a mare, watching her baby colt's dancing feet as they learn how to stand up on their new, awkward legs. Sleep peacefully at night, knowing earth will bring new blossoms to its bounty. Walk delicately, yet strong as a wheat stalk, at its full time... bending towards the earth waiting for the farmer to reap his effort of plantings. Let your life swell upwards toward the sky so you become like a vase, an open vessel. Let the child within you rise like a dolphin swimming within your heart."
I look at myself in the mirror now. My legs a bit heavier. My face with a few more wrinkles then yesterday.My hips are fuller and my stomach is not as flat as it used to be. Some days I look older then tomorrow's sunset and some days I shine a little bit brighter, like today’s sunrise. It’s all part of nature’s plan. (sigh)
Children are playing outside and girls are walking with young men in the town square. All that doesn't seem so far away in my memories, yet those times are over for me. I am like that leaf hanging onto the tree, but the seed is still alive within.
I walk a little slower now. I hate the feel of clothes against my skin, I want to leave them off, but the sight of me naked isn’t as pretty as it used to be. Yes, I have ripened into an older age of life. It's hard to write it all down. Sometimes denial is precious, but so unreal.
I once knew how it felt to be a woman who was going to have a child, it's like how a tree feels when its about to bear its fruit.
Now, my leaves hang from my tree, some of them have fallen, some are ready to fall. I put my hand upon my fallen leaves, their soft surface still surprises me. I can still feel my tree of life swirling with sap. Sap that's still alive, with rich roots still surging their power in me, wanting to break through into another new life.
I walk the streets of my life alone with the buds of my childhood left behind. And even though I walk alone under the dark, umbrella of trees, there are many lights shining down on me. There is a hunger and a deep rebellion to march forward. My tree comes from a far seed, still bending in the wind. My child to, comes from a far seed blowing across the plains of time in a faraway place.
My inner child's still budding secretly from within, bidding me to carry on. Although, it is much quieter now. The movement of my tree I can still feel, still hear. Its delicate sounds of living moves gracefully within myself…silently reaching upward.
My leaves twirl and swirl, delicately falling to the ground. My tree within it's roots in an gentle, swaying breeze, moving slowly it's stem of life. Like a stream, clear and strong flowing into the ground.
My trunk may be unseen to some, but it’s spiraling upwards in powerful energy, it's just moving up in a slower motion now. It’s stems twirling fragilely, until they fall once and for all, to be reconnected with the Universe in all its splendor.
It's a far more gentle breeze that speaks to my tree now, and as I sit here in the afternoon sun of my life, it seems a very, very strange thing that a tree might come to mean more to one than any of my husbands did. It seems a bit of an embarrassing to acknowledge... but it is so true.
Now as I sit here in my paler, pastel sun, my tree speaks to me with its words of comfort; with its many soft, fallen leaves of wisdom...speaking to and through the heart of my soul. I finally learned to listen; to listen to the whisperings of my tree speaking to me from within.
How can I describe what I feel is being said by my tree? It speaks to me of love, sharing, kindness and wisdom; of acceptance and self-worth. None of my three husbands really spoke things of that nature to me. None of them spoke to my heart like my tree does.
There is a much wiser woman in me now, I can hear her breathing. She speaks to me with kindness, acceptance and wisdom. She looks me thru' the mirrors of my soul and says. "I hear you're going to have a new child, don't worry she will be the same color as the blossoms and the green leaves you once used to bear, she is still playing in the park. She is still alive, waiting to blossom once again.”
I am writing this on a piece of paper now (like I said, my computer is my paper now). I have walked through my heart and spirit with substantially heavy boots. Large, heavy boots... with my tree bent over and with my leaves falling over into my soul. The light still shines in my eyes with misty expectations.
I sit in my room watching the trees from my window. They are standing, yet bending willowy and gracefully with the breeze. Some of its leaves have curled, but its trunk stands steady in the earth, like a stream flowing smoothly, with a few rumbles of current here and there. So I say, let our trees blossom and spread their roots all over our hearts and souls, now and forever more.
