I love what my son calls dead flowers aka cut flowers.
I realize this week that I’ve slowly been collecting them from every place I go. Like a touchstone. A prayer of possibilities. Flowers are tricky because of the matrix of industrial flowers and all that.
I am not here to preach because the world is full of preachers. I am here to say find a way to make yourself happy. Something tiny and tangible…something easily accessible to you and your life and surround yourself with as much as you can. See what happens when you say yea to those little things and let that little goodness spread through your life and heal it as much as possible. If that is preaching…I will begrudgingly take the tittle then.
What is nourishing me—Right now for me it’s black ink pens(true black), journals, books, walking, sunshine, matcha green tea and cut flowers.
I don’t think I have to tell you about the world. We have known of ot forever. Maybe the imprint of culture is stamped in our bones or is it poured on us like hot caramel …something that sounds so good but too much of it made with the wrong ingredients and poured too liberally before we even
know what we would like to have on us. Who am I without all the trappings ? What nourishes me without being told? That is what I swimming towards. Rowing towards…really.
I remember Anne sexton talking about rowing towards God. I want to read that poem again. Digest it before I really speak. But I do think that somehow in this thicket of caramel God is rowing towards us…me? What does that feel like or live like, if not matcha and sunflowers.