True Lovestory

It takes days to recuperate. Perhaps the stretch is far from over, just like those micro cycles of change within the macro cycles I have begun teaching about.

Perhaps it’s the reflection on ageing and dying that leaves you eternally young, out of time and space, while the body withers slowly, but surely, showing me that death is coming. Inside and outside. Not yet. I can’t tell these days whether I am hopeful or in denial, depressed or leaving it all behind. If people today know or that they care to know. Whom to pass all this onto. So much wisdom. So much life. So many stories.

It has taken days to just detox those years in the city. To shake it off. Noise. Breathe out so I could breathe it all back in. The North East. The scent of pines. Soil. Spring. Observing a Magnolia burst into pink blossom. Reconnect. Take off my shoes. Kickstart my kidney. Be alive and not in residual apathy.

I have spent days on the lawn watching the sun rise higher and faster across the trees in my garden and then the Easter Moon culminate calling in and trying to listen. To myself speak. To my soul’s wisdom. To knowing what to do.

Eating dandelions, beech leaves and fresh elm samaras. Absorbing fresh air and sun light and letting freckles dance on my nose.

Walking to the beach below the hill. Blue gazing.

And the Moon and Uranus embraced and lit up the sky. Reunited for a brief moment, so I could let go. A memory of a Blue Moon.

Behind the gates in my forest there is another forest. And I have never been there.

He asked if we should go. See what’s there.

The finding of the New Tree that offers a One-eye to One-eye exchange. The Wind that cheers for heeding that sign. At the roots of a new Lover’s tree, their trunks are one, then two, then again merging upwards, outwards, stretching, we talk of those omens and are glad we see the same thing. A new journey. Together. Unknown, first steps together.

The butterflies kiss us. His is the Peacock. Mine is the small Blue Cupid. His shows him the way forward. Mine lands first on my left ankle. Then the right. Feet blessed and way shown.

We are especially grateful, because we remember how painful that transformation was.

These precious little signs and omens of this time coming. After all the work done. On the other side of those gates.

The beyond and the after. The hope. The joy. The only true love story that has no ending. We are that.