Sweetheart, I’m tired. It feels as if I can only go down under from here. So take me to these depths and lay me down to rest so that maybe soon enough I’ll grow again. I hope my soul returns in leaves and hearty stems leading into blooms. Just don’t be shocked if I leave soon.
Don’t think of me as a sad memory, but see me on the days I danced gleefully. Laugh of joy in my memory and pray to the flowers in my place. These things you can’t escape, you can only embrace.
I am roaming through the sand dunes and the ocean sways behind me, hungrily, awaiting my return to its watery carpet. Yet small grasses precede taller stalks with tiny buttons of pink and yellow slightly showing their heads as birds above bellow. Warm sand covets my feet while rays of sun kiss my shoulders waiting for me to enter into the water’s splendor. The sea foam twinkles in the breeze like evening stars on a blue and moving backdrop extending as far as my eyes will take me. I lay in the shallows with the sun beaming down on me as my head is crowned with a halo of salt crystals in water. Yellow and olive are the ocean flowers adorning my crown with a ring of spiritual power.
Slowly I will undress myself of these aches and let them flow into the river I wade through so that as I emerge I can return with silky relief on my skin. Gingerly I will unbutton my chest of these hurts that started back when I thought I was sure of decisions made on a whim in the back of black and gray cars. Then I will bare my skin and my soul to the great Earth around me and then become whole.
Girl, when did you learn to dress in beauty and walk in kindness? This I did not teach you. How did you learn to pick up fragile pieces and place them on a canvas to create sweetness? This I did not show you. Most of all, how did you uphold your tapestry for others full of mindfulness? These questions I must ask of you.
Bits inside me murmur like rivulets on days where the current has picked up pace and I sigh through gusts of air moving over the large ripples over the water. My chest just wants to be engorged with the aroma of golden celebration roses from the garden, yet all I feel is tension from the trailing plants around my chest. Bits inside me keep murmuring in the voice of soft rivulets.