Still, she turns me on.
I was watering the plants and trees in the front yard this morning. Looking at my Pride of Barbados turning to brown sticks, it occurred to me how much I wanted to rekindle that first-grade crush. To what end? The plants are changing as the weather pretends to change to Fall. It was 100 degrees here on October 13. Just bad luck? Other?
“Let it die.”
The voice was clear. The meaning was more nuanced. The plants in the yard have fulfilled their purpose. The seedpods are all exploded, seeds seeking darkness, wet, and rebirth. The seeds don’t have ambition about their next life. I’m comparing that to my own life. I don’t have a next life to contemplate. I also, don’t have to create mythical beauties to inspire me. She’s not mythical. She laughs with ease. The chemicals in my brain are trying to recreate the fascination of a first-grade boy chasing a golden-skinned blonde across the dust bowl of a playground. And then it’s time to come back in for math.
She will remain unmolested from here on out.
I was tempted to water the Pride of Barbados, extend their lives. Of course, that would only delay their rebirth. I can’t call in “next.” I can’t create “next.” I have to wait. Evolve. Perfect. Pray. Play.
She’s playing somewhere else at the moment.
Letting go of the known universe. A rebirth requires a death. It’s that simple. To seek love at this moment would be a fool’s errand. Like watering the plants that must die to fulfill their purpose. To live another day. Aim for Spring, but first a long sleep. I don’t have time to sleep. I am wide awake.
And dreaming.
Today everything changes. Tomorrow, again, even more evolution. Some painful. Some ecstatic. Illuminating. Aiming at my next YES, my next AH-HA, my next…
First to die.
