I heard that plants grow in a similar pattern as a jelly fish’s tentacles move when it swims. The plant will grow a little bigger and then shrink a little, grow and shrink, grow and shrink. I feel shrunken. For the the time being. Until the season comes when I grow big again, only to shrink again and then grow and shrink and so on and so forth. A pattern of death and resurrection. Light and dark. Lost and found. Neither bad nor good. Just nature’s habits that naturally stick to creatures of nature, animals that are in denial of who they truly are.
Have you ever held your heart? Aside from pledging allegiance to a bloody flag when you were small, when was the last time you thoughtfully and lovingly pressed your palm to the walls of your soul? When was the last time you made that connection? I like to hold myself in that position. I like to remember that I am transcendent and timeless.
Today I went trespassing onto land that is rightfully mine anyways. It’s rightfully yours too. I sang to butterflies and green hues lit up my eyes and the trees covered me from the drizzling rain. I felt at home in one of my many homes. From the streets of Asheville where it’s conventional to be unconventional, to the streets of Houston where it smells like piss and men’s voices yell out for your number and mothers blow bubbles for their daughters on trains and old women walk to the convenience store to buy fish. From Asheville to Houston to Shelby where the dogs keep getting fleas and none of us can hear the other and we laugh when the other farts and flip each other off when we’re being made fun of, to the forest where it is still and quiet and primitive and the pine needles and spiders give permission to exist in your Truest form; to listen to your intuition, to embrace what lives in the forests, the quiet places of your own heart.
When will my eyes cleanse me with holy water? When will this well be emptied so it can be filled again? When was the last time you held your palm to your heart? What is a home?