Bits of De(light)

not-quite Journaling, 77

succulents--
green bits of delight
grown for joy

10/20/2024: Life is rather rough, at the moment. So, when Rosemary invited us to find inspiration in “things [we] delight in, which make [us] feel blessed and glad to be alive in spite of all the bad”, my soul and skull filled with vibrant images of tiny plants in tiny pots. I enjoy mini-gardening (especially when I’m sad or anxious or angry or hurting…). It’s green therapy! I love selecting the perfect tiny planters: a cracked finger bowl (see image above), a chipped teacup, a ½ ounce shot glass (that used to be a wee candle jar). There are more things (and people) that make me feel grateful to be alive, but today I’m choosing tiny plants and tiny pots. 

What about you? What “things you delight in, which make you feel blessed and glad to be alive in spite of all the bad”? 

 

 10/24/2024: Because some days (years?), one must get the energy to fight (and thrive) from unlikely sources (emotions?) available to one. Yes, by “one” I mean me (and you too, if you wish). 

 

a green treat
to warm my tastebuds
until spring

10/29/2024: Tonight is supposed to bring our first below freezing day of the season. So, I harvested the last of the tomatoes. A bit late for tomatoes, I know. But the unseasonably warm temperatures have been blooming and fruiting all sorts of things. Really, my sunflowers and gloriosa daisies are still blooming too. I wonder if they’ll be all frosty tomorrow… readying themselves for the Winter Solstice. 

What’s nature being up in your bit of the world?  

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #155: May Bite!)

Food for Flesh and Soul

not-quite Journaling, 76 

The blossoming is done
for you, they told her...
spring is gone;
summer went cold;
autumn will fall
at winter’s feet. 

But she ignored them--
wild nature is always
too wild to quit blooming 

on anyone’s command.

 

10/20/2024: I think “a terrible beauty” should be added to the definition of Climate Change. I can’t believe how many things are still blooming this late in the season. According to the forecast, it’s supposed to be 80 °F in New York City on Halloween. Makes me want to cook my traditional All Hallows’ Eve pumpkin chili outside, on a fire pit… The thought of a big cauldron bubbling over flames and coals, woodsmoke and spices and storytelling scenting the air, takes me back to the best years of my childhood *happy sigh*. 

 

If life skins off de-
light, I shall wear
midnight as a suit. 

11/10/2024: This poem bit was my response, when asked to illustrate my feelings on the election results (and what said results might mean for a chronically ill, veteran, immigrant, woman of Afro-Caribbean descent). After reading the poem, someone said they “admired and envied [my] grace and lack of pain”. At first, I thought the person was being sarcastic. When I realized they were serious, my brain and I spent some long seconds stunned by the idea of anyone being so blind… Then, I proceeded to completely lose it—loudly, descriptively, and at length: 

I shouted something (probably slightly unintelligible) about metaphors. Then I Magaly-explained that being skinned alive would involve pain, that choosing to stand up when soles and knees and palms are raw from being flayed would be pure agony, that wearing anything on freshly exposed muscles and bones would be torture, that doing any of these things would require taking sadness, rage, disappointment, will, and the almost-corpse of hope… and reshaping all that terrible energy into armor to keep my heart (and other people’s skulls) from being crushed under my pain.  

I am angry. I am sad. I am in pain. And I am not feeling particularly graceful at the moment. But “this too shall pass”. 

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #152: Holding Your Breath)

Screaming Doesn’t Help (much)

not-quite Journaling, 73

Screaming doesn’t seem to help much,
so I shall harvest myself a soothing.

9/22/2024: I’m not dead. I figured I should put that out there right away. I haven’t been feeling awesome--physically or emotionally--but I’m getting better. I lost several friends, to a preventable accident, in the last few weeks. The grief hasn’t been easy on my flesh or bones or spirit. I needed a break… I’ve spent a lot of time crying (all right, screaming rage-filled tears), reading old favorites, watching my plants grow, letting my Piano Man comfort me, smiling at messages from many of you (thank you!), and straight out roaring with laughter at increasingly outrageous memes from Rommy (humor--particularly dark humor--is one of my favorite medicines, and mi querida amiga knows that).

Today, I chose to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox by doing some harvesting and delighting in the gifts my wee garden has produced this season. I pulled the sweet potatoes out of the soil with my bare hands--the dirt felt warm and alive, and I bet the potatoes will taste just as life-giving. The tomatoes have been sweet, juicy, and plentiful. The passion fruit needs more time (we can relate, can’t we?).

I’ll spend the next few days catching up. I hope life is being good to you. I hope the world isn’t causing you much pain. I hope society’s current turmoil isn’t clobbering your nerves. I hope you are as well as is humanly possible. I hope… for us all.

 

on days marred with loss,
I’ll let autumn rain cleanse pain
of flesh and spirit

 – for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #146: Substitutions)

I Will Reclaim Where I Can and Adapt Where I Cannot

not-quite Journaling, 72

There is a party in my mouth (grapefruit + hope) tastes like victory.

7/2/2024: My cancer treatment is over. I’ve taken my last estrogen blocker. I’m giddy and nervous and grateful and cautiously happy. I celebrated with a grapefruit (all right, with three grapefruits). After six years, tasting (no, devouring!) the citrusy delight was nearly orgasmic. Now, my flesh and bones and spirit and I will work on reclaiming other pleasures cancer treatment has kept from us. I will reclaim where I can and adapt where I cannot.

 

sunflower
on a cloudy day,
what a gift!

7/16/2024: My Piano Man gifted me 13 small journals (yep, he totally enables my 13-is-the-awesomest-number-in-the-multiniverse obsession). I couldn’t decide which to use first (they’re so pretty!). Then the phrase on one of the covers, “We can begin by doing small things…” made my choice for me. Other quotes, carrying similar messages, are scattered on the pages--reminders that tiny ideas are seeds for gigantic doings. I’m trying to find my way again, after so many years of being mostly ill all the time, so I can use all the reminders I can get.  Also, I LOVE starting a new journal! 😁

 

7/18/2024: Because every now and again, people promising help convince themselves that said help looks a lot like the box (cage?) they’ve built of their own beliefs. I hate cages--no matter how pretty (or seemingly well-intended) they might look.  

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #136: “begin by doing small things”)