essential oil


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I’m so sorry
but i really
just have to
let you go.

it pains me to
even sprinkle water
on this aromatic basil plant
and in this heat,
the fragrance seemed
to fill the whole room.
i dreamt of all the ways
we could eat and share
it….pestos, salads, pizzas….
mostly i just
want to see you smiling again.
it hurts to
hold space for these memories.

i recalled, hesitantly,
the time back in college
when i ripped every leaf off
my bonsai when i was depressed,
and i knew that it was
time to harvest this basil.

and so,
one by one,
i plucked each leaf,
crumbling it in my hand,
letting its oils seep into my skin
and watching the reamining stem stand,
and it reminded me more of you
this way.
like the phallus symbol
you always were.
i really couldnt eat these leaves
so i just kept crumbling them
into my hands
hoping to absorb anything
i could from them.

and the truth is,
i wont come back now.
i wont water it again.
i wont watch the stem shrivel
or start to lean
or fall.

so i left.
i actually ran.
i ran hard, even though my hip hurt.
and i kept squeezing
and rubbing the leaves in my hands.
knowing, somehow,
that you would heartily approve
of my therapeutic use
of your
essential oil.

amongst the redwoods


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as soon as i smelled nag champa
it was like breathing in
a visual wave of images
from a time ago

of colors
and free wind
and flowers all around
and like the ephermal whisp
i transported for a moment
to a version of my fairy child
from years ago….

she’d been buried
before this …

back when i had to bury you,
i was left with this
thick and disgusting mud
all over myself.
my wings broke off
from the unbearable weight
and the stench even singed
some scars on my face
it’s like

i buried myself
burying you
and all i really wanted
was for you to live

i thought the path home
would be lined with gold,
with flowers, and I’d skip
through some canopies, delighted!
but instead,
it was horrific and dark,
covered in mud and leaves and bugs
crawling thru caverns and sharp shells and rocks
whilst trying to remove
this false layer of self
that served as some kind of protection.

yet as i journeyed
i grew.
much much taller.
all these concentric rings
formed around me
and though my feet were
moving slow as molasses,
my spirit was carrying me
into the heavens.

and so,
i bid farewell
to the innocence of
my fairy world dreams
where everything was
quaint and tiny…

as I’ve reemerged…

in this new world
so very very tall now
amongst the red woods

spilled milk


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some old adages one can only learn thru experience:

1. a chapter can be too short
2. an absence really is a presence
3. a heartache is a mass of its own

but one that i’ve learned to be false thru experience….

4. no sense crying over spilled milk

no, friends. there is sense crying over spilled milk.
any nursing mother would concur. that takes some energy and time and effort. and the baby screams when there is no milk
so to whomever said that …. perhaps you never made milk. perhaps you weren’t there to console the baby that was waiting for that milk. thats my guess. someone else made milk for you and you devalued it and never made it for yourself.
[ side note: maybe thats why the milkman got so popular anyhow. he seemed to understand. ]

so go ahead now…

cry over your spilled milk.

morning notes to my bunny


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hey you little runaway
it’s okay
you can stay right here
just a little while
the grass is so plush & green
it’s going to be ok
it really is

so take those pointed ears
and relax them
take some deep breaths
and just let me
smooth your fur a little while

i can be your watch dog
i will be alert for you
for at least a little bit?
and i will watch for predators

it’s time now for you to rest now
where it’s warm
and let some calm wash over you
in this little garden.

come now.
i can be your home.
you are found.
and i absolutely, positively
love and adore
every single ounce of you
my darling