Tuesday, October 29, 2013

I dreamt I was an orange seed.

I dreamt I was an orange seed. Every spring, I would burrow myself into the soil to try and take root.  Thrice, the wind came and swept me away.  Once, a bird picked me out of my shallow habitat and carried me off.  Another time, I sunk too deep into the soil and when the rain came, I drowned.  Finally, I took to the right depth, the right quality and conditions, and I began to grow.

my roots spread in all directions. I was planted, and it seemed like the hard work was over.  Without  much difficulty, I sprouted; a delicate green tendril who pled her allegiance to the sun. But my woody stems took their good, sweet time, and delicacy grew to be a test of its own. Wind, rain and drought questioned the integrity of my form. I was brown and limp; nearly dead. It was then that I began to grow again.

From A seedling I crept into a young tree with two branches, Three leaves, one blossom.   Nourishing, that sole flower with all of the xylem and phloem within my structure, I battled against August.  But fall came before fruit.  Leaves fell off, and the blossom withered.   Winter came and I barely made it through the harsh winds and snow.

  For years, i was three leaves and a single blossom; nothing I could do would improve that reality.  Other branches formed, but did not bear flower or leaf. It was only from the confirmation of my increasing near-sighted-ness that I had an inkling that the ground was farther away than it was last year.  But, it could just be my eyes.

Then one day, a fourth leaf.  A flower I had not noticed closed in and started the painful, slow process of becoming an orange.  One flower, one fruit, four leaves.

Fall came, tore the greening fruit from it's branch. A winter of grief followed.


Spring was elated to find countless blossoms on branches, and from these blossoms countless green orange buds formed.

Finally, one, singular orange was made, encapsulating dozens of seeds, fully formed.

 I gave it away, and I grew for next spring's harvest. As a girl, I picked the orange from myself the tree, and I realized that I has just been watching the tree grow, not growing within the tree. I was waiting longingly for that fruit for years.  I was starving to death, but now I was not hungry anymore.


I spit the seeds into small holes in the ground and started over again.  I wished them well.

it is 7 in the morning.
I am grateful for the strength of my inner self when my outer self cannot stand up to the challenge of life.
I am grateful for half-friends who do not have to be kind, but are anyway.
I am grateful for air mattresses that stay afloat.

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