Lenore and Gilead

Home of the Lemurian Abbey

Can Ya Dig It?

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As I walk away from the potting shed, I turn for one last look. It is yet another picture to capture in my heart. The charm of the A-framed mossy roof and the rustic wooden petiteness brought a feeling of fantasy to the structure. The small porch was more of a lean-to; the bottom made of rattan, the top of randomly curved willow branches. I can’t decide if my favorite feature was the dutch door or the window boxes. On second thought, there could be no favorite feature as it was perftect just as it was… picture perfect.

 “That was one freakin’ fine ride home!” Ms. Gigi said in my ear as she jumped on my shoulder. “Do you have to make that slurpping noise when you lick your eyeball? It’s not one of your best sounds, you know.” I complain.

“You used to like it and think it so cute,” she countered. “Oh, Ms. G. You are cute and I do like it. This is just how I show you I love you, by teasing you.” I reach my hand up to my shoulder. She refuses to get in my hand, acting haughty. “You should shapeshift into a peacock, you’re acting so snooty.” I tease her further.

“Oh, come on, Shizma Sally who I found in the alley.” She walks down my arm from my shoulder to my hand and stops. Her creamcicle body turns and she looks at me. “I do love you, Ms. G. In fact, I’d give you a big kiss ‘cept you got no lips on that smiling mouth of yours!”

 “How ’bout I turn into a big pouty orangatang for ya, Sal? Wanna kiss?” Ms. G. attempts to pucker her lipless mouth and sticks her tongue out like a lizard. Oh, I guess she is a lizard. “So, I guess you were thinking a little too much about germinating seeds when you used the walnut shell to teleport. This doesn’t look at all like the ship!”

“Hush, Ms. G. Don’t give me anymore of your lip!” I feign snappiness. It comes as no surprise to either one of us that we were in the potting shed. How often is one truly in harmony with the earth’s cycles?

We walk down to the ferry, catching it just before departure to the Lost Island of Lenore. I can’t wait to arrive as all that time in the potting shed makes me want to walk. Until then, I am more than satisfied with sitting in a shady spot, feeling the fingers of the ocean breeze running fingers through my hair. I do some heart centered breathing and relax.

The water is a bit rough between the islands today. I’m glad I remembered to bring my ginger and peanut candy to suck on so I don’t get seasick. I was a disgrace as a fisherman’s daughter; getting seasick on the ocean. Except for the day we sprinkled his ashes in the water. The boat licensed to do such things was a no show. Another boat happened to be at the dock and took us out. We passed a seal, an otter, then a dolphin. As we began to throw the ashes into the sea, the captain marked the latitude and longitude. We then marked the location with lei’s, strings of flowers, and made tobacco offerings in the way of the Native Americans. It was tobacco that took his life in the form of lung cancer. Anyway, I didn’t get seasick that day in honor of my father. I know he was proud.

“So, Ms. Gigi…It’s your turn. What would you like to do here?” I offered when we reached the Lost Island of Lenore. “I’ve heard for the past hundred years or so about the boab tree. I would love to climb all over it in gecko form. I bet you’ll like it, too. Come on, I’ll tell you all you need to know while we walk.”

We walk down the path towards a signpost. “Wait. How old are you?” I ask. “Hundreds of years?” “I’m old. That’s all I know. After a hundred fifty years, you lose count. You’re finally not the oldest one at the party.”

“What party?” I ask. Ms. Gigi doesn’t elaborate about the party, but I learn plenty about the baob tree and how every part of the tree is used. The end of the lecture finds us at the baob tree. It’s unlike any other tree I’ve ever seen. I walk under the tree and recline in its shade. The earth sinks a little beneath my body and I feel like I am resting on temperpedic foam mattress. I roll over and place both hands in the dirt. It is so soft, so richly brown. I spy a weed marring the perfect velvety patch of earth. It’s got to go. I wrap my fingers around the stem of the weed and pull. I can feel the roots tighten and know I’ve just lost the battle. I let go and reposition my hand, let my energy connect with that of the weed’s. I then slowly begin to pull. I breathe into my heart, pulling with steady pressure, meld with the energy of the weed. I can feel exactly when the roots let go. I sit down suddenly in the dirt and a cloud flies up around me.

“If you hold on too tight, there is resistance. If you let go, then just hold and comfort, the resistance dissipates and it, too, lets go.” I look to where the voice is resonating. Is it coming from the tree? I wait, but hear no more words of wisdom. Ms. Gigi is running up and down the tree, catching bugs, licking water from the leaves. I sit back down and look at the hole left by the root of the weed I pulled. Sticking my pinky finger in, I wiggle it and make the hole bigger. I put my palm back down to the earth. I can feel a pulsing, like a heartbeat. I am inspired to dig.

The velvety softness of the dirt makes the digging so easy there is no need for me to use anything but my hands. I dig and I dig and I dig until the hole is large enough for me to sit in with only my head sticking out. “Remember, remember, remember.” I hear it whispered over and over again. “Remember what?” I ask aloud. “Remember…” the whisper repeats over and over again, softer and softer until the words disappear in time.

“Don’t you hate it when that happens?” Ms. Gigi asks. She is now a millipede; each of her legs kicking can-can style in sequence like the Rockettes. “But whatcha gonna do?”

“Nothing. I’m going to do absolutely nothing but sit in this hole of the finest dirt I’ve ever seen and relax.” True to my word, that’s exactly what I do. Unfortunately, my mind has other ideas. It is still hearing the word ‘remember’ and pondering the thousands of possible meanings. “Your mind has as many thoughts as I have legs,” Ms. G comments. “As if I didn’t know,” I retort. “By the way, what song are you hearing in your empty little head.” Ms. G is still dancing and doesn’t miss a beat.

“Keep On Dancing. Next on the jukebox is something with bongos and other drums. I think I’ll do a conga line.” She’s too funny. NOT! My thoughts float away from Ms. Gigi. I remind myself to let go. Then I wonder why people tell you to let go but not tell you how. Suddenly I remember the one time, long ago, when someone did tell me how to let go.

We were in the mountains learning about the Tree People and Mother Earth. It was the day I officially became a tree hugger. If you’ve never hugged a tree, you should try it! After sharing our feelings about hugging a tree, the assignment was to let go. The instructions were to dig a hole in the ground, lie down next to it, and talk into the hole. Say everything you’ve been holding inside; let all the anger, sadness, negativity, etc. out into the hole. And when you there was nothing left inside you, leave an offering to Mother Earth, fill the hole back in, and walk away knowing that Mother Earth was big enough to handle whatever you left.

I walked into the forest, dug a hole, laid down, let it all out, cried, screamed, cried some more, and let it all out. And then I thought “Oh, piss on it!!” So I did that, too. I peed in that hole I dug then left a piece of chocolate and a feather. I filled the hole and walked back to camp not realizing how bad I really looked. Apparently I had mud all over my face from crying. I had leaves and sticks in my hair from being sprawled on the ground flaying my head back and forth. Nevertheless, when I shared my whole hole experience, I received a round of hugs, a warm washcloth, and everyone helped pick the foliage out of my hair.

Was that what I was to remember? Or was it that when I felt overwhelmed, out of control, sad, angry, etc. to flop myself onto the ground and stay awhile to get myself grounded? Who knows? Who cares? As long as I can remember anything, all is right with the world! Can you dig it?

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Written by Sally

March 25, 2009 at 9:11 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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