Tuesday, March 8, 2011

because it's time to write about March, already.

Things today looked, if this is possible, both lumpy and flat. the ground was flat: brown with small, inconsistent blades of green, flat with the energy of degrading. All of the trees are budding now, or almost all. But the buds, knobby, lumpy, don't seem like they're holding anything. They seem like aberrant growths with little potential.
I noticed myself frustrated with the state of things this morning. I feel like I can barely stand the state of things. Like something has to change. I want spring to be here now, or I want to move now; I just feel so ill at ease. Spring would mean something was happening. I want something to be happening.
But I suppose Mother Earth will not be rushed. I mean, we force plants in greenhouses, but they're never as good as when they're growing in season. And the same can be said for so much growth--you can't force it; it takes the time that it takes.
But today I wish for faster.

Healing is like Spring; it is a slow, arduous process, time consuming, unrushable, happening in silent fashion, discernible only in increments until it i s through and then POW it has come raging and profound and complete, the taste of it in your mouth so wet and green and fresh it takes your breath away and makes your eyes tear. Healing is like wrestling with the angel: once it has happened, once you've been blessed by it, you are better, but you can never be again what you once were; you will always walk funny from now on.

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