dalliances with dahlias
Thirteenth camp, a congress of women, and what a full and far-out journey it has been, swimming in smiles in a honeymoon of helloes, meetings, openings, peaking and panicking, left gasping in the aftermath. Groping for awareness amid resurrected childhood fears, the past reared its serpent head, found a crack in the egg through which it could slither. This was not safe, but it was not wrong and healing happened, as it can and will when allowed. The chattering crowd dispersed at last to leave me safe in the hand of She who held me in the hands of women, all loving, embracing, soft and strong.
Here I am, returned from wombland to the world of men, after being squeezed like toothpaste through the tube that led to life and more. I don’t do extreme changes well, I said, and she said, nobody does. Seems I’m not as terminally unique as I thought, though I may still lay claim to being somewhat unusual. The dark crisis which came later may have dimmed the shine (at least in memory) from the show I put on the previous night, but if I allow myself to focus there, it still glows bright. What a bliss trip it was, singing with throbbing throat to a sea of glowing faces embracing my gift with grateful hearts. It’s recorded for posterity, so watch this space for further updates on where and how to listen, if interested.
Without prejudice, may I say that it’s been a journey through heaven and hell, coming to ground in a neutral zone neither one nor the other, perhaps both. Here in this rivendell of flowers, I take daily dahlia trips, snip and sniff sweet wafts and whiffs, walk barefoot and naked in damp sacred soil to bring my sore self into balance with recent rebirthings. Though I sleep indoors, these daily groundings do good things for my growth.
I do have a tent which I wish to pitch in the shadow of the mountain outside the fence, though I am aware of bear and cougar which do exist here. I don’t fear maulings or caterwaulings, having grown up in the north where large predators predated humans and are respected but not venerated as gods to guard the woods from our peregrinations.
Bears do shred tents, but I shan’t keep food in it (I tell myself). Scared? Not me. That’s somebody else shivering in her shoes, fearing fantasy fangs. Lions, tigers and bears, all part of life, this world of balance, and I am just another predator, not prey after all. Still, I’ve not seen one this near, though others have, and such a close encounter might prove profound in a good way. A bear might pause and notice me; I imagine a moment of awe, held breath, reverence and resonance with otherness, but that’s all. A vision might be visited upon me, revelation to open the space in my darkness for the future to be seen and followed, and that would be good.
More likely, though, neither hide, fang nor fur will be manifest and it will be just me, sleeping under the mountain, dreaming the dreams of this land.