This mornings warm breeze graces my cheeks and comforts my skin in a way that I have missed all through the Winter and early Spring. Of course we didn't have the most Winter-ish season and I have absolutely nothing to complain about (except, of course, the dire implications)
but it's not about complaining. It's merely about missing this breezes of this time of year and appreciating their return.
I am a May Baby. A child of late Spring when the Earth is so fertile and accepting. This is a time where I shine and I blossom. I used to gravitate to people born in this time like we're a bunch of sacred kin that dance round Maypoles together. My favourite Gemini is no longer with us however he is still strongly in my focus and view. I tag him here in this post because I want you ALL to know him. Find him, hear him and learn from him. Liam, dear man, brother, sweet sinning partner in crime, I miss you so. I miss your voice in my ear. We shared so much in common with our love of self-sustainability, tribal ways needing and being revived and our quests for truth in a world where lies prevail. He visits me in my dreams, he talks to me in my sleep and I hear him whisper my name, assuring me that his Gemini-Taurean heart is still strong and with us all. I wish for a different world so often, a world where he never had to leave us. I think of him with a smile and deep sorrow, but so much gratitude for having the chance, the honour and the opportunity to know him at all.
As a child of May I am rebelliously defiant and aware of this world and it's ways. I strut to the beat of the Earth, not the machine. I make merry with the creatures and the dirt, not the cogs in the wheel. I commune with those that dig deep and raise up to meet the Sun not those that barely scratch the surface and fake this journey called 'life'.
I relate to seeds and the dark, tight spaces they burst forth from. There is a beauty that I find in decay, both of self and of material. There is a space in me that I find beauty in things that others would be disgusted with and often are. I will take death and make it into life. I will create from destruction. I will find joy in the aftermath of pain. I will take someone's hate for me and create a love within myself that will grow gardens of plenty out of compassionate understanding for why they feel their pain to hate in the first place. I will take joy and cry tears that flow rivers. I will be contrary and I will always be misunderstood.
This morning's breeze and the chirping of the birds gives me hope for these days where hope seems to be in such short supply. Another muse has left us and yet I will carry forward, we all carry forward. Onward and upward, like the seed that struggled through the dark and tight depths of the Earth. We will rise above to greet the Black Hole Sun.
I stood too long by the lilac tree. I bothered the robins who have nested on our porch. They're getting used to me though they chirp so at my presence. Afraid that I am like the others and will destroy them and their home. I am not the machine, I am the dirt. I am not a cog in the wheel of the machine, I am the rains that brings the rust to make it seize. I am the uncomfortable truth of release when you tell yourself all the little lies to stay afloat despite your anchors that weigh you down. I am the gaping hole of nothing that people fill with something, anything to avoid the darkness that they need to face. I am none of these things and all of them all at once.
So to are you. Have you forgotten?
I sat on my stump and gazed into the rising Sun through the thickening of the trees that hide the houses. My wee woods are back once more. My illusion of a forest in the city has returned and I am so thankful for this. The birds caw and screech and the bees hum low as I meditate with them. They bring me such peace. I prepare our gardens, our space and our way continues. Each day a new one. Joy or sadness, pain and strife matched with elation and ease of ways. The balance. I find such joys in the balance, such angst in them too. For some days you want to tip the scale to or fro, to the extremes of it all. To be creative or destructive is a choice. Some days both are called for in order to achieve a new world, a new way, a new life.
In a constant metamorphic state we rise to be more. If we choose it.
I feel a certain guilt sometimes, when I wish you all a good, joyful day. Not everyone should feel obligated to feel these feelings if they are not true. So I wish you the day you need to have. The day that fulfills you the most or destroys you the best, to serve your greatest good. Through destruction comes creation and creation brings destruction and so it is and will always be.
So much love, I wish you so much love .
Author: Cari-Lee Miller
Understand this, dear reader:
This blog space is like a diary to which consent for my writings/feelings/expressions, is never needed or asked for. This is my space and if it brings you uncomfortable feelings, feel free to look no further and keep to the spaces that do you no harm.
I am a seed burst forth from its shell. I have mingled and fought in the dirt. I am ready to kiss the Sun. *CLM
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Your medicine is in the woods.
Your pharmacy is in your kitchen.