I have found the perfect spot under a big old cavernous witching tree. And the tree welcomed me and my request. And encouraged me to sit a while surrounded by its big old mossy energy. And I waivered and wobbled and wept, and he held me there. Understanding and love seeping into me, into my tired bones. And I clarified that he knew I had chosen to take this child's life. And still he welcomed me. "The death of a child is still the death of a child," he says. "May you be visited by many living robins," I whisper to him as I take my leave. "Know you are welcome to return," he says. "I will look after your little one."
And what greater monument to a life cut short than that of a big old tree already having seen so many generations come and go?
Every day my body feels a little bit stronger. A little more solid. A little less fragile.
And I wonder at my body's speed of recovery.
And I worry that my mind will forget just as quickly.
It too has a remarkable capacity to heal its wounds to the outside world.
And for once I don't want it to.
I want it to heal from the inside out.
Not the "usual" way around where the scars form on the outside and fester from within.
This can't be it.
Can it?
We shall see.
And then I remember that I have found her place to return to the earth. The comfort and relief of such a fact is astounding.
I will be able to lay her down in the soft soil to be lovingly held by a mighty tree
until nothing but the living remain. And this is why something has shifted.
6th February 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment