I figured, since I am being honest, that I might share some of the writings I never share. Some of the words that I keep locked up in journals with Specials Instructions for people to burn them all without ever reading were I to suddenly die unprepared. This is something I wrote just after Easter time…

Maybe I need to fall apart again so as I can put myself back together better. I didn’t do it right last time because it still hurts. I used the broken and rotten pieces as if I believed I must be the same size and same shape as before, otherwise, how else would they have recognised me?

This time, if I fall apart, I am going to leave the broken and ragged bits alone. Leave them where they fall. If it means that I will be smaller or have gaps in me, I don’t mind, time will come along with her sands and fill me back up again.

If I leave the bruised and broken bits on the floor, I will be stronger and since I won’t keep falling over, I will be cleaner.

If I am smaller or have gaps, maybe I will be able to grow better. Oxygen will flow through me, shifting the dust and debris. Dropping the broken bits will allow the wind to get in and help the flames leap ever higher. The fresh air will help me breathe better. It will no longer be stuffy or dusty in here. I will stop sneezing and coughing and use my lungs to their full capacity.

I will be like that gooseberry bush that Nan pruned right back. She said, “We must let the air in, let it breathe, stop it sending its energy to these dead branches. I know that some still have a little life left in them, but it is doing it no good.”

So she took away so much of it and at first I looked on in horror, but watching her quiet confidence sparked faith in me and so I went and got the red bucket. Whilst she pruned, I arranged the dead branches, some even of the living, inside that red bucket. When she finished she said, “That looks lovely!” and she meant both of our work. She crowned my thorny bouquet with some groundsel and then I took it away to get burnt.

Now, when I look at the gooseberry bush, it is still much smaller, but it is only a few weeks later. However, there is much more green and it bounces better in the breeze. Come summer there will still be berries; come next spring it will renew itself faster.

I need to be like Nan and her quiet confidence. I need to know when to discard the still living tips of dead branches for the good of the whole. I need to know that even if I remove a little too much, that only leaves space for more to grow.

June 13th, 2004 | Category: Blood and Guts, The Dordogne | Subscribe to comments | Comments are currently closed | Trackback URL