the courage of crocuses

barn burned down

now I can now see the moon

~ Japanese poet Masahide

As any sage will tell you, the first act of creation is destruction.  Oh, but destruction is so harsh—let’s not use that word, how about we say change?  Change is softer, no?  Funny how we can turn and twist language like a clown making a dachshund out of a balloon.  Funny how saying the same thing differently can open our minds with a fresh perspective.

via boho girl

Then again, the word change isn’t always a winner.  Some people resist change with the fierce screams of NO reserved for the two-year olds of this world being told it’s time to go to bed. Which is not to say, as adults, we don’t all understand the benefits of change—you know, in theory—it’s just that when they actually apply to us and someone is asking us to let go of our tightly held ideas, beliefs and things that we think define us, it ain’t so easy.

Mercury goes retrograde tomorrow which means a can of miscommunication whupass is about to be dropped on our heads.  This makes me more apprehensive than usual about being misunderstood, but then somebody's gotta be the fool rushing in and seeing as I'm pretty familiar with the job description . . . allow me.

For much of my life, Spring was a season of pain. I was not one who saw the first crocus and leapt about in fields of clover with dancing bunnies and winsome field mice.  Nope, my response to crocuses was always one of sadness because I knew they were going to be killed by frost.

I know, right? 

Crocuses were too fragile, too tender for this world and I wanted them to stay underground until at least, oh—I don’t know, maybe mid-July?  Or wait—a lawnmower could raze them in July. How about never?  I think they would be safe if they never came up.

The good news is that I no longer feel that way about Spring (or crocuses) and I can see pretty clearly that my dread had to do with where I placed my focus.  “dear little crocus, don’t pop up with cheerful energy because you’re just gonna die.”  As opposed to, “rock on, purple wonder-- look at you pushing up through hard ground with nothing but dry grass to greet you!  Carpe flippin diem, little guy.”

I don’t even like telling you about this part of myself, or waxing philosophical in a public forum because it makes me feel vulnerable to ridicule.  And feeling vulnerable is the last thing any of us wants to do, n’est-ce pas?

Who wants to put down their defenses and simply stand in the morning sunlight exposed to all the harsh elements that can cut them down? 

Well, you know—except for the crocuses among us.

Um, wait—I think I lost my point.  Barn burning.  New perspective.  Creation.

Oh—there it is.  Hey, the first day of Spring is next week-- but here in Providence the temps are hitting a high note and the ground is popping with white and purple flowers.  I’m using this energy to clear out the guff (literally and metaphorically) and to burn down and sweep out all that no longer serves me.

It seems a rather destructive act and yet, sweet paradox, it is the ignition to my next creative endeavor.

Wouldn’t it be funny if I could close out by wishing you a week filled with change and destruction and you really understood it to be the most positive* thing in the world? 

Yeah, probably not the best idea--- so let me just say, yay for longer days, for more sun and for the courage of crocuses.

bisous, e

*please note, I did not say pain-free