Whatever happens to you from that point of sublime innocence leaves indelible footprints on the mysterious you. You're open to learning, and you learn from your caregivers; their experiences and lives influence yours, in a chain that can be kind and good, or conversely, really tough to deal with. It's all the adventure of living.
No matter what you call it, the soul, the spirit, the psyche; there seems little doubt that, just like an apple, there is an inner core to each of us that is the true essence of our being human. So many times we'll marvel at the resilience of those who go through extreme events and suffering in their lives, yet come through it all, wiser because of the experiences, and ready to cart and set forth on it, no matter how many different curve balls life seems to throw at them.
Thoughtful people question their place in life. Sometimes they stuff their questions down into their deepest core, wanting things to be right for them; knowing things aren't. Societal pressures and the wish to be obedient loom huge for them. But when you reach a rotten apple core, do you munch on? That is a question many have to face.
I can't show you a picture of our guest contributor today, because she writes under her pen name, crazyhorseladycx. But I love that she's here, writing in her own inimitable way, sharing her love of nature's beauty, and questioning in a way that brings the light onto a topic many try to stuff down into the core.
I can tell you she has a ranch in New Mexico that keeps her busy. She loves nature, her mustangs and other horses. She's had very major health challenges. She has a huge kind heart, and I adore her straight up writing, and the fact she loves plants and what's in the sky as much as I do!
The masks that one dons to appease the needs, wants ‘n desires of others shrouds our inner self. It’s there, sometimes lyin’ dormant, as if deep in winters slumber. How does one reawaken ones true self?
Where’s that moment in time where we choose yet another path? Or, do we just sit on our haunches ‘n watch silently as time continues to go by? Suffocated by the madness of it all.
I ask these queries as the landscape begins to awaken. Perhaps a restlessness in the beast that sleeps within. Green sprouts emerge from piles of leaves ‘n barren ground. Sweet flowers come en masse ‘n seem to brighten the darkest of days– the promise of a new beginning as spring takes hold of the lands. Runnin’ amok much like a young’un who’s not seen it all ‘fore, I wander throughout with camera in hand. Tryin’ to capture the moments, each leaf ‘n flower petal precious to me.
Takin’ great delight in such magical wonders of Mother’s Earths bounties, I find myself in this place. One of indecision ‘n that weighs most heavy ‘pon my mind, heart ‘n soul. The longin’ of sheddin’ my winter coat ‘n blossomin’ tends to o’erwhelm. Is it e’en possible fer this ugly ducklin’ to transform into a beautiful swan? Perhaps too many fairy tales recalled from youth. A distant dream of standin’ high ‘bove ‘n watchin’ as life unfurls.
The scent of lilacs fill the breezy airs with the most delicate of perfumes. I stand in awe at the wee ‘n single bloom on the almond tree. Not a tree at all, it’s growth so thwarted with many years of drought. It’s merely a shrub of sorts, but I take delight at its perseverance as I see it strugglin’ to come up from the roots, that lone original branch puttin’ forth that delicate pink flower to touch my heart. It speaks to me somehow. Maybe a sign of its ‘ppreciation fer not givin’ up on it jest yet. Perhaps it’s tellin’ me not to give up on me jest yet either.
Clear white blossoms of the Bradford pear called out ‘n I obliged. Spendin’ hours in the darkness watchin’ as dawns early light beckoned ‘em to open. Sunny yellow flowers one can’t help but smile, the gift of the gooseberry bushes. Near magenta blooms on the soul survivin’ Flowerin’ Crab Apple amid those burgundy leaves.
I watched as the maple trees bloomed ‘n then took great pleasure in their transformation. First from wee flowers akin to the tiniest of sunflowers, then delicate seedpods hangin’ gracefully from high limbs. Then witnessin’ the openin’ of leaves, those which’ve always reminded me of baby monkey hands.
Apple blossoms hangin’ low in swaths, exemplifyin’ their defiance to the harshness of the latest cold spell. Deeps pink buds openin’ to near pure white, their dainty stamens awaitin’ the visit from bees ‘n other pollinators. They cascade ‘cross ‘n appear to dance in the breeze, swayin’ to ‘n fro. It mesmerizes the senses, one could get lost in such beauty.
I struggle to figure how to remove my own winter coat. To be awakened from this cocoon I feel I’ve been confined to fer too many years. I’m not sure I’m gonna like my real self. Perhaps she’ll carry too much baggage ‘n her views too skewed?
I hope that she’s great wings of flight ‘n soars high with the eagles…I hope one day to no longer bear the mask of this masquerade.