A Tree and the Sun, A Dream Remembering Itself

As a seed, covered in lush earth, no one knows we are crooked and bumpy. Out comes the sun to draw us up and towards it; the darn sun, burning desire without any shame, a masculine divinity with no mercy until the earth moves itself into darkness again.

My mercy comes at night when I dream of the children who will be able to reach me only if I am crooked.

Not just the ones who know they love me, but especially the ones who take me for granted. Who love me to their dusty bones without ever noticing that I am crooked. I am a familiar bumpy place to sit. One that was there for many wandering questions, and sunset decisions. I belonged to the earth, was not wrong looking, was not planted crooked. I was on purpose, made to order.

In my dream, the sun and I had a deal to meet on a certain corner of a certain dimension, at a particular time, and a random place.

Of course that part must be random. The grandness of life demands the drama of not knowing everything. Our plans are only meant to take us so far, and dump us, crying as they go like it is our first day of kindergarten.

I cry too, and the salt seasons my moment’s awakening. I awaken to the warmth, the familiar.

I am the nourished dream…

🌙