oh yes gentle reader.. it's that special time again. for i've got a hankerin', a yearnin', an itch a-waitin' to be scratched, a bone just achin' to be picked... oh yes. i've. got. beef.
we all have those folks - those special people in our lives - who, by their very presence, invoke great feelings of "less-than-ness", inadequacy, bring up all our little skeletons and insecurities and ask us to have a dance with them... spending time with my own skeletal choreographer i feel the pot begin to stir once more.. and i am obliged to take a look inside.. and see just what strange meats... are cooking, barely simmering below the surface.. once again..
my grandmother loves to tell this story: when i was 1, diapers, drooling & onsie territory, mind you.. guests and family would come over to our small house, upon glancing at my "darling" infantile self, would remark to me and my beaming mommy.. "Oh, what a beautiful baby!".. to which my pudgy face would screw up in disgust & malice.. the slobbering mouth would usher forth the pronouncement in the offending direction: I NOT A BABY!!!..... as in "f*#k you! how dare you?!?!? i am a child of God... made from the same stuff as moons and comets, i can scoot on my on damn ass all the way across this here room, form new sounds and sentences each day and wail - WAIL!!!! - with the fury of a thousand caged yet wild & ferocious creatures!!!" ... "Sure I may need to be picked up and have my own ass wiped by others but really.. really... A baby??!?!! a bAbY!!!! Why you gotta be talkin' that shit on me???"
A glistening preview of things to come I suppose.. to this day, if anyone, other than a well-meaning, gray-haired, bespectacled diner waitress condescends to call me "Sweetheart" or "Hon" , it's enough to send me into minor coniptions.
And so this other, this mirror, my Perfectly-Wrought-Iron-Stirrer-of-Pots... in the garden of life she is a Tulip.. growing orderly, methodically, beautifully, Just So, and according to Formula, adhering to the proper amount of Sun & ratio of Water & Nutrients.. abiding contentedly in the Goldilocks Zone.... whilst I.. (and let's face it, while it does take two to tango - much of this may very well just be in my own mind...) I grow wistfully outside the well-tended flower box.. existing on random bits of sunshine, the company of squirrels, and the whims & well-wishes of god... A dandelion.. who can see the beauty of the Tulip for all that it possesses.. clean lines, good breeding, an arduous attention to detail.. but carries no desire.. to cross over to that world.. this lovely, gracious Being whose very presence feels, at times, like an eternal pat on the head, each word uttered a well-meaning "SWEETHEART". ...under whose good-omened palms I slightly shudder...
And so i fumble for a minute.. sucking down water, flailing of arms & legs, spitting up mucous in this - the endless, salty sea of iNsECuRiTy....... but I hold up hope.
Because I think in the end.. and this is my lesson, as well, dear reader.. I think we all just want to be seen - for the unique, messy & glorious beauty which we all contain.. not to be formed, or compared to another.... but to simply be beheld.. in all our infinite, hair-brained beauty..
So as the Tulip beams proudly, steadfastly, gorgeously upward & on..
the Dandelion gently chides.. No. no,I am not a weed. I am an oracle - a granter of wishes, a gracious dancer, a witch's scruff, a fairy's wings, a dragonfly's mane.. I am glorious.. to the one who truly seeks to behold me.. Kindly tilt your head a bit & have a closer look... and if you do me this small kindness..Ican promise you this.. I'll also do the same.
...........
