I've been struggling with a lot of old, heavy grief lately, but within that, I’ve been gifted with the presence of some beautiful people, handing me offerings. One was a recent session with my former mind/body counseling instructor, Pietro Abela, who I sometimes feel is my own personal Giving Tree. He helped me through a horrendous healing crisis; he has seen at my most broken, he's watched me struggle and grow, and he has held in his hands both my most intense grief and my most transcendent peace. Sometimes I think I am going to come to him, an exhausted old woman who ate all his apples, knock on his door, and ask if I can just sit on his couch and rest. And I’m certain he’ll let me.
On Sunday, I got to see my friend Dana, whose Compassion Project I decided to ride on the coattails of with Beauty Breathes, and we talked about our mutual struggles with dyslexia. She left me an absolutely lovely voice mail that evening, offering me a beautiful reflection of myself at a time when I was feeling especially ugly both inwardly and outwardly.
Today we had our annual staff outing to go look at tulips. I wrote disappointedly in my poetry journal that I had no real thoughts, poetic or otherwise, about tulips. On the way back on the tour bus, one of my co-workers said the lady at Costco told her that to make tulips last longer, you put a small cut in their upper stems. The tulips will focus their cellular energy on healing the wound, rather than opening and blooming. They require less resources, like water, during this time of healing. Only when the wound is healed will they begin to expend their energy and external resources to bloom. And this simple statement made my entire life make sudden, perfect, and elegant sense.