The last few weeks have been an emotional randori.
On the dog walk I often pass by a building that has over 50 rose bushes. They are well taken care of and are always blooming. Over the last few weeks I have watched the tight buds relax into blooms. As the dog sniffs the grass, I sniff the roses. Tight buds change day by day, opening slightly. I push my nose into their relaxing petals and deeply inhale the sweet scent. Some sweeter, some with citrus underscents, some slight astringency.
I think about that rose phrase by Anais Nin:
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
I've watched these tight buds blossom. I've been wrapped tightly myself. I breathe to relax. I surrender. The demons keep coming. The emotional attacks continue. But my feet are not on the ground. I am in nospace. Groundlessness. My heart is the only thing I can trust, and it both breaks and expands, blood pumping through the metal filaments, lungs expanding and collapsing.
I let the demons eat. They sink their teeth into my heart. I bleed. I am not afraid to die. To die is to leave this place. To try again. My heart is stronger, lives on, even though its destruction. It has been tightly wound, it has opened, and its petals have fallen to the ground. The rose blooms again.
I stop to breathe in the beautiful scent when I pass by on the dog walk.
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