I’ve lived on your lap for 45 years now, darling Earth, and I have done a lot of therapy. I’ve spent decades in 12 step programmes and trainings, and I’ve done a lot of spiritual practice. I’ve consumed forests of books. I’ve written teetering stacks of journals. And I am STILL NOT FIXED. There are
I’m resting my foot against a warm snoring dog underneath my desk. I’m resting my eyes on the grey stone Buddha on my windowsill, as he exudes his usual tranquillity. I’m resting my tired heart on your battered breast, darling Earth, as you absorb whatever we hurl at you. After I rest a while, I
Here I am – melancholy, weary, my back and neck sore.Earth – our huge poppy is splitting its bud, revealing a slash of blood-red. The dogs are fighting over my affection.Leaning in, I see all the violence stirred into your beautiful soup.Listing gratitude – dappled clouds. Calm-again dogs. Quiet, embroidered with wood pigeon coos. A
Here I am – I feel old, my lower back aches.Earth – you are waking up, your spring flowers are blooming, and you are very very old.Leaning in, I see the new and the old in me.Listing gratitudes – sun on my face, dog on my lap (muddy paws and all), a therapy session later
Ralph came to live with us a fortnight ago. Our dog Aiko loves other dogs whenever we meet them when we’re out, and I hadn’t quite appreciated how it might be for her to have a new sibling. Someone who takes her toys from her mouth. Someone who runs to meet and greet us first.
I see our vegetable patch, through my office window. There are our month-old seedlings – courgettes, kale, cauliflower, cucumber, squash. Ruffled green sprigs of potato leaves have poked their way up through the earth. There is flimsy lettuce, just-germinated chard, and a self-seeded marigold which has been socking us in the eye with luminous orange