inbreath when instructing myself to sit and not do
the mind in pictures which flash, fade, emerge
a dog head beelines for my palm and nuzzles bumping cool damp nose bud
palms cupping buzz that tingles
feeling the light prickling where fate line intersects heart and head
waiting for what emerges
what is showing today?
the filmstrip inside my skull splices a never-ending collection of plants
I clearly perceive flowers, leaves of all shapes and colors
they keep coming at me, to me
how do I know them so well?
how do they know me?
in the library that lives in my cellular memory
have I stored and cataloged my interactions with these beings?
Am I a librarian, a botanist, herbalist, healer, a witch?
And why am I so reluctant to remember?
Having loved the plants so long, so well…
has this power brought upon me isolation, demise, misery among men?
remembering is awakening
there is fear, post-traumatic tension with excitement braided in
so many of us with herbs and weeds behind our eyelids
were martyred to human need for certainty, control, designations of good and evil
now insight is returning
as are balance, divinity of female and male
squeezing bitter drops of toxic neediness from each polarization
eager to relax and embrace myself and the plants inside of my eyes