just like the flowers, we are sensational and doomed

aren't we dainty and proud

~ about a 4 minute read

prologue

I offer you my gratitude with this picture of a dog in sunglasses chilling, and my roughly put together words.

zing zing zing - goes the daytime cricket
zing zing zing - - his back legs ring
a distant lawn mower, the sweet tweets of the birds
there are no storm clouds today - only the ones swarming my heart
my body yelps as I move into yoga positions and I want to move away
- staying put is not my strong suit. so I try. I stay
I breathe into my sore body and my flight reflex
when it’s light outside but dark inside the pain seems crueler somehow
and my chest is stiff and brute from guarding my soft heart
from picking you up, as well as picking me up
but yoga reminds me everything changes
a change of pose - an easing of discomfort
bruises darken before returning your skin to you
waves once too big to look directly at
turn into ripples I can ride all the way back
until then though I’ll keep my eyes on the blue sky
my ears pitched to those daytime crickets and the sound of peace
greasing my windowsills

pinterest image

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I sleep with my son and he moves and turns and twists through the night but I get some sleep, I think. he wakes in the morning, swift and quick, and I tell him, ‘go to daddy,’ who is getting ready for work.

when daddy leaves, my son is crying fat tears at the front door. I get out of bed and go to him, cuddling him to me saying, ‘mummy is here. daddy will be back soon.’ it comforts him; that or he sees his toy truck, and he stops crying.
I can barely shower as he pulls at the toilet paper, chews on the sponges, and empties my entire make-up contents. I try and get out of the bathroom but he is under foot, where he always is, and I smash my knee against the door frame. I scream, ‘fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk,’ cause it hurts like hell. I wonder if it’s bleeding or if I have done real damage. my son weeps behind me, walking his new born foul walk, desperate in his cries of, ‘can you still look after me???’ the vulnerability of a baby child is so bewildering - I wonder if that is why we hide our insides forever once we get older? that much bared skin is enough vulnerability to close up forever.

I think about how often my body wants to dance but I don’t let it. I don’t make noise from my mouth when I sigh in my movement practices. a stifling of a wild woman because they taught me it was safer this way. but for who? but today I dance with wild abandon, shaking my hips and whipping my long, knotty hair. I touch my fringe too often but I can still enjoy a heavy sigh. I will let energy move from my body with sound - this is healing work too, I am taught from those around me doing the work and looking different - lighter somehow.

I have woken up blue for the last few days and today is no exception. I feel discontent, rejected, and wanting. I pull three major arcana cards for a four card spread and think, there must be something going on cause that’s a lot of major cards. my earth is the devil and I know from my back pain that there is emotional stuff I need to look at. are you prioritising something material over something spiritual? the devil asks. what are these chains around your wrists and ankles for? the ones you have attached and are enslaved too?

we walk to the park; the one that is further away because the one close to my house feels cliquy, wealthy, and is always busy. plus it’s a beautiful day and I want to walk. I need to walk. my son plays and plays and plays. other kids come up to stare at him and he stares back while the other mothers and I laugh nervously. kids throw you into a realm of discomfort every minute of every day; it’s great for personal growth but it’s fucking exhausting. I watch the kids running from play equipment to play equipment with the excitement that adults reserve for a department store, or a bar. I wonder when we stopped playing with such enthusiasm? I fear the answer lies in the exhaustion that is adult life - but would play be the thing to bring us back to vibrancy??

we get home and my baby is dissatisfied - just like his mama. he cries and cries, following me on his little unsteady legs, arms up wanting to be held, with an intense longing in his eyes aimed directly at my heart. ‘hold me hold me hold me’ his eyes scream, ‘take away my pain.’ I can only reply with sad eyes. ‘I can’t hold you all day’ meaning, ‘I can’t take away your pain.’ when it’s time for my break and my son is sleeping softly, I make time to write. I write and I write and I write but I realise I never make time to feel. alas! feeling might actually make my writing better…

when my son wakes up we go into the backyard to water the flowers and our new tomato plant. I get baby to hold the hose because water is magic to his small hands, and I bring the potted flowers to him, one at a time. we have pink, white, yellow, purple, and purple rimmed with white flowers. they are dainty and proud. a single flower lives and dies in a few days. baby is crouched low to begin with, but he sits down, a move that gives me satisfaction - he is happy with his job; he wants to get comfortable. with that little move, I feel my body relax. I bring him pot after pot, and gently spin them around to disperse the water evenly.

life is simple and beautiful as we water the flowers in the back garden. we too are like the flowers; sensational and doomed, and only here for a very short time.

all my love my babies xo

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