I go out to say my goodbyes
Slowly making my rounds. Bye to the rock
The rose hips, holding their droplets of water, say hello
I ask if they want to talk, since I was headed to the ocean. But they just wanted me to notice their beauty
You are very beautiful, I say
The rock, rosemary, aster, the tall grass – suddenly it feels like I have such a community to say goodbye to
I place my hands on the rock, and an eagle flies overhead, again. Close to me
I make my way down to the ocean. She is gentle, today. Slowly coming in to receive me
Looking in her, I see the last three weeks, being in this place
She always brings me something
She is a portal, holding a place of transformation
I am different each time I leave her
Oh, in a sense she is always there, since I am always on the coast. But there is something so different about being with her closely, each day.
Her gentleness reminds me of my last time in Greece. Connecting with her there, a different flavor but the same container of transformation
I couldn’t name it, I tell her, but I am always changed
Mallards, who I’ve watched from the window, slide from the air into the water. Letting me see them, the closest yet.
Thank you, I say to her
I brought you flowers
I love when you bring me flowers, she says
Yesterday I found a wasp.
We arrived home after 3 weeks away and I found her crawling so slowly up the side of the window near my bed.
I knew immediately that something was wrong with her. Just a whole body sensation that she needed help.
At first I took her outside, gave her some sugar water, and thought she’d fly away.
But she didn’t. She sat there, barely moving.
I left her there for a while, but the sun started to set and she still hadn’t moved much.
So I created a box for her to spend the night in. With air holes, sugar water, some leaves, some plain water.
When I opened up the box a little later she was just beginning to drink the sugar water.
This morning I took the box outside, not knowing if she’d still be alive.
She was alive. Looking much more energetic, her belly moving all around. Moving much more quickly.
I opened the box and after a while she tried to fly, but kind of went sideways and fell.
I watched her crawl all over the box for almost an hour.
She did not seem scared. She was curious. Maybe cleaning herself off, I don’t know.
But I could feel her.
And after a while I said, you really should go back in the box. I will keep you for another night and see if you can fly tomorrow.
She crawled back in the box.
I am finding my energy coming down after a big opening this past weekend and she is reminding me of myself, a little. I am laying curled up in bed and she is resting in her box.
You can see all the videos in my stories. Some people seem to think I am terrible for being nice to her (apparently bees are cute, but wasps are the enemy). Some people think I am the best person ever and that I am rescuing her.
It is neither of those things.
I’m just being. Being with her. Existing with her.
In connection with the world around me.
Letting her teach me what she will and observing what she is like, in this little snippet I get of how she moves about the world.
Tomorrow I’ll leave her outside, regardless of if she can fly or not. Because she cannot live in a box.
But for now we are both resting.
This one called me off the street last night
Even though I was absorbed in other things
When I touch her I see stars. Galaxies. Bursting night sky.
Last night she said, you’re doing really well, you know.
I laughed. I suppose, I said.
I can feel you, she said.
You can see us
So tonight I went back.
I ignored the strangers walking by, looking at me
She is crawling with moss
Bark peeling in every direction
All I can feel in her is a deep love for me.
All I see is stars.
I pull out my phone, I look her up. What is she?
Cherry tree, it says. Sakura – the name I wanted to name a child, when I was younger.
When I was little, there was a cherry tree right outside my window, I tell her.
She laughs. She knows.
I loved that tree. I spent a lot of time with her, feeling her through my window, sitting at her base. Leaning against her
Later, I used her for journeying. My root to the human world, the middle world.
I would always come back to her.
And then one day, many years later, I had a vision. I was letting go of a lot of pain, and the tree appeared in my mind.
I’ll take it, she said. I will sacrifice myself for you.
It felt true and I let her, thinking she would just alchemize it for me.
The next time I went back to Pennsylvania, I drove by my childhood home.
The tree was gone. The new owners had cut her down, recently.
This tree tonight said, yes. I am her
And we love you.
But why? All of you are connected? I say
But she is silent
Like all good teachers, she does not answer every question
I start to walk away, and then it hits me: my tree came through this tree to be able to say hello.
To tell me she was proud of me. To tell me that she loved me.
And I went back and she had left. The tree was quiet
Like a large, shaggy puppy
This pulls at me. Beckoning me over.
As I touch him I can hear panting
My mind is like, not you. Not here. Too many people around, too many cars
It wants to tell me I can’t focus
But the truth is that he wants to say hello. And he doesn’t want me to just say hi and leave. He wants me to stay.
“He” is not really the right word. Neither is “she.” Some plants are a mix of genders
One grabs onto my coat, and the whole thing shakes.
They are just happy. Happy to be seen, happy to be touched.
Happy to be witnessed
You were just planted here, I say.
Do you think that makes us less?
They just want me to sit with them. And my neighbors walk by, everybody wants to know what I am doing. I am cringing.
This part of me that would rather hide, not be seen as weird, would prefer it is the way I want it to be.
But now that I have tuned in I cannot leave.
They are so happy I am here. Sit with us!
Like children, some want to show me the dewdrops on their skin
A neighbor walks by, again. Are you okay?! She asks.
My inner child curls up in a ball.
Because how abnormal is it, to be talking to the plant?
Yeah! My adult says out loud. I’m good.
If you want to carry our message you have to be seen, the plant tells me
A white fluffy puppy says hello, the plant says
No, I thought it was that you reminded me of a puppy, I say
A white, fluffy puppy with a black leash. Wants to tell someone hi. Through me.
I think his name starts with a B.
People are going to think I am insane, I tell the plant. Who now feels like a girl.
They just giggle
As soon as I say I will mention it, the plant lets me go
Thanks for taking care of me, she says
I bloom for you
Her leaves, crisp, full of water
You need a haircut, I say.
When loved and nourished, she overflows her container
I used to not be responsible. I’d let her go for weeks at a time, not watering. In the winter she’s okay with this, but in the summer she withered. And I’d look at her from across the room and be like ugh I have to water her
For the amount that I love plants – I have killed so many throughout my life
But not her.
I started taking more responsibility in my life and I took it with her, too. Periodic haircuts. Regular-enough watering.
And the plant that the internet says only blooms once a year has bloomed nonstop, for almost an entire year now.
People try to trick their plants to bloom more often, apparently. By putting them in closets and pretending it is winter.
Why do we have such an addiction to summer?
Happiness is not the orientation, I said to a client the other day. What makes me happy is not the question – the question is what is true.
Your down is just as valuable as your blooming.
But what’s wild is that I would have been so happy for her to rest. I gave her little haircuts, told her she was doing so well and was so beautiful. And even now, she has new unopened buds
She has just kept blooming
I ask her why and she says you were nice to me
We forget that plants need us too
Value us too
She can grow here, in our apartment, with my help.
And I grow, too, with her help.
If you knock gently, you can open up a door.
Right in the center, it will take you down inside
There are little men, dancing amongst the leaves and branches. Watching you, wondering if you will say Yes.
If you open the door, there are stairs. Brown, made of mud, they go straight down. Into a tunnel
If you were to walk into that tunnel, you would come to a door.
The door opens into a night sky
But it doesn’t have to. It will open into whatever you need to most see
And if you are brave enough to step through the door, you will meet someone who will guide you.
They will tell you what you need to know.
Is it insane?
Or is it the most sane thing ever
Is it trippy?
Or is it dead cold sober
If you do not open the door
You can stay up above
Where the world can play out in your mind
Where you can throw your energy away on pointless entertainment
You will stay in a place that feels safe.
But is it?
Or is true safety when you can
Feel safe in all unknowns
Her wisdom is always here.
She has a flood to share with you
But only if you open
I was going to talk to something else
Headed on my way
Followed the urges of my body, even though they didn’t make sense to my mind.
And as I walked, she pulled at me. The tiniest spring of her, popping up out of the buttercup leaves.
Sage? I wondered. Why is she growing there?
And as I got closer I realized she was everywhere. What looked like two big bushes, but long abandoned to the earth. Sprawling, woody stems laid across the dirt
She asked me to take some of her, so I did. Make some tea, she said.
Journey with me, she said.
And her spirit appeared as a gnarled old woman, her face like a tree
“You need to be putting your hands in the dirt,” she told me
And she wouldn’t take no for an answer
Starting slowly, then all at once.
People get victimized by her.
She pours the entire
essence of life
over the earth
And they are like, oh no
Not HER again
She is ruining my day
Why does she always have to
They find other homes
Where she is not
They push her nutrition away.
They say, she makes me soooo
I just have a condition where I
Cannot enjoy her
And yet, unfazed, she comes
Sometimes a gentle mist
Sometimes a cleansing of the
She comes only when she is ready.
Then she drops.
People used to sing to her
Praise her very existence
Appreciate her for showing up
Again and again
They certainly miss her when she’s
They want her only on THEIR conditions.
They want her to show up in their preferred ways, on specific days, at specific times.
But luckily she is not in service
She is in service to the earth
And she loves you deeply regardless
The sun was setting by the time I got to her today
Her massive leaves
Covering the ground
I had seen them from my window. They all dropped at once. The same day
She goes through so many cycles.
I’ve watched them so much, this year – flowers to furry buds to massive leaves
She does not hang on
no matter how pretty
She is willing to let them all go
To begin again.
She wants to tell me about being gentle with yourself.
Embodied softness, she says to me
Letting things happen in their own due time
Trusting the process
She sends me images of candelabras, sweet blankets, un rushed creation
She is fertile
And she is fertile because she lets go when it is time
She comes through like a very well-dressed grandmother
She isn’t particularly warm, but she is classy
Everything in its place
Everything in its time
She tells me not to rush
That patience is
what is needed.
Quite stately, well-done
The wisdom of knowing that
Everything has its proper
Yesterday when I passed them they were smiling
Peppy, laughing, joyful
Today they are shivering
Looking fragile in the ice cold rain
Wind making them shake
Some are dying. Rotting away into the soil
They do not want to be saved
But my mind wants to save their beauty
To cover them up, move them back inside
Can you be with me while I am dying, she asks
Looking at me softly
While I wither
Don’t I look even prettier now?
When you know I’ll be gone
But I just want to be witnessed here
Planted here without my choosing
To listen to noisy cars and street sounds
This has been my life
Can you bear witness to this
Promising wealth, abundance
Piles of gold
Sprinkles of stars
A drop of cheer
But actually quite full and dark
Like molten coffee, ropes at clubs
Her world is rich. Deep. Slow.
Short lived – but she loves the richness of experience.
Purple velvet, throbbing bass, warmth
She does not have any words for me.
Just a warm, inviting tongue
Flesh and empty black space
I am so tired, and what she wants to share is not comfort – but luxurious. Honey. Sliding down your throat.
She says thank you.