Pythian Games

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Return To The Dig Tree

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The Dig Tree

You would think, as whiney as I was last time I stood before this tree, with my pick in my hand, deciding I was too tired and too whatever to actually just dig in, that I would have gotten over myself and my little childish whims before I came back again.  Ah, but that simply is not so, because here I am, glaring at this crummy twisted tree, yet again, scowling and angry and more than a little irritated with everything, blaming the tree for my own vapid indecision.  Fine.  Here I am.  I shall be here now and plain old get over myself.

I did not really come prepared this time.  I have no shovel.  I have no pick.  I have my hands, with no gloves to clothe and shelter them from the rocky ground that surrounds and protects this old dig tree.  At least this time, I can say with the utmost certainty, I know why I am here; I know what I am looking for….I have achieved all my major dreams…only to find out…I need to dream bigger…but…what do I have left to dream about, when all is said and done?  Do I even know how?  Are the dreams already there, as I suspect, locked inside of me, locked down and afraid to come out, lest they actually be seen and brought to fruition?  If I dig deep enough, will I be able to find them?  Unearth them?  Bring them to the surface?  Shine the light of day upon them and breathe true life into them?  Will I be able to find Me in there?

Lucky me, I am so focused on dirt and rock and the need to claw my way down below, to strip forth the roots of this tree, to expose the me I know is in there somewhere that I cannot yet find, I fail to look up, fail to notice the sky growing solemn and menacing at the same time.  I fail to notice black and green roiling clouds.  I do not hear, do not feel, the rumbling growl of approaching thunder.  I do not feel the shift in the air, the ozone sizzle that stings my eyes and makes me sniffle.  I do hear the whip crack trill of the lightning striking; I am thrown back by the blast as it strikes the heartwood of my tree, not merely breaking it open, but exploding the inner recesses outward, revealing dark swirls amidst the pale yellowed core of the tree.

I can no longer deny it; the tree is me, in effigy.  Here I stand, sundered by the will of the Universe, spread out, spread open, splattered into so much shrapnel and splintered slivers.  Here are all my dark shadows, all the scar tissue, all the broken pieces that when assembled transmit me to the masses.  Here I am, struck dumb and silent, smoke burning my throat, tearing my eyes, peeling away the somber matter that hangs over me like veils from a past I no longer sustain.

I pick myself up, dust away the ash and dust and little bits of nefarious ephemera that persist in clinging to me.  I might as well get this over with now.  As clear as this celestial push is, as pure as the motives here are, I cannot deny that this is the best and most perfect time to delve in with both hands, mindless of  scrapes and bruises, to rip away the unnecessary bondage I have spent so many years wrapping around myself.  To pry loose that which I need most to bring about my own clarity and release my vision, loose my spirit upon my own stead.

I step into the debris, mindless of the poking and prodding, the sharp gouges, the biting fingers, trying to hold me back, pressing to tie me back down.  I start to grab whatever I can find and fling it away.  I am not even stopping to see what I pick up and throw over my shoulder.

There is the house.  I wasn’t too picky when I bought the first one.  All I wanted was three bedrooms and to be close to my son and his father’s house.

There is the tie to my son.  Wanting to be physically closer.  Emotionally closer again.  There is a lot of fine detail that must be worked on there.

There swings my job, working for myself, but without the much finer detail.  All that much needed detail, to expand and expound upon all things there.

There goes my writing.  Not enough clarity there either.  Too little sketched out to be useful.  Barely enough to keep things flowing along.

So much for my drawing and painting; somehow it was set alongside the road and abandoned when a frailer time hit.  I need to flesh out those bones so much more.

There stands that good man, tall and slender, with the glint in his eye from staring into the sun, just as I requested.  You know, there is not so  much I’d change about him.  I do need to change the way I deal with him, so unused to being happy or content am I.

Where is the car?  The one I can’t even drive due to fear and insecurity all over again?  Put that one on the list of things to do.  Must find said car.  Get into it.  Ride that pony one more time.  Until I am ok doing it once more.

Here is the income to support the family, the children, to get them into different programs and much more.  Here is the safety net I have needed.  Nevertheless, there is so much more.  So much more out there to be sought, if only I can pry deeper down and chuck things out and keep them straight.  If I can set my path, I can find a way to navigate.  If I can just figure out where I want to go, the how I want to get there will fall into place.

I come down to the very core, the exact center, of all that I am, all that was this tree.  I stand up, stretching out my stiff back, surveying the damage I have caused in my inquiries and harried reachings and gropings.

I can see there shining like a star above all, the Rescue Ranch, that has for so long meant the world to me.  Even as I see the promise that I made to that wonderful man, that I would not separate him from his family, would never come between him and them.  I stand by that.  I am not one who would force such an inhumane choice upon anyone.  I see that there must be changes made in the application of achieving this goal, but as yet, I am not certain which way to go, or how to go about doing it.  Although I am certain I am not giving either the Ranch or the man up for anything.

There is working for myself, and so many details to pick up and poke around and set into an order that makes some sort of sense for me.  There is the phone work, which is going so tremendously well I almost cannot believe it.  Though I know that I want more.  I want to step out more into the Healer role.  I want to step more into the Teacher role, outside of home-schooling of my daughter, and of myself.  I also know that my writing needs to take more precedence.  I know my artwork needs to take more precedence.  There are dolls dancing in my dreams, talking to me about the way my hands move across the substrate of their flesh and bring forth the living beauty of them.  There is poetry to write and to recite.  There are fibers to be woven and knitted together.  There are teatimes to be taken, one sip at a time.  So many things, each in its own time, must be separated from the herd, taken down to brass tacks, evaluated, determined, investigated and set out into the world on two steady feet to take growth and boom forward.  To blossom and create and procreate.

There is my family.  The children of my hearth currently among us.  The children of my hearth that will be joining us soon enough.  From old sources, as well as from new sources.  There is a great deal of detail needed to clarify things with family, from handling former fathers, to incorporating current households, to moving on and expanding things in all directions.  Here lives too much fear and shyness and inability to reach for what I want and for what I hope and desire for fear of all that I want being taken away by cold uncaring hands.  This place requires patience and compromise by one and all.

Speaking of households, there comes the need of a new house.  A new dwelling, with new specifications, new ways of filling things, new ways of letting go of things, new ways of interpreting the way things come together and what it all means to me, and to us as a family, to everyone involved.

There is the business of education, of my own, that of my children, and we as a family together at large.  There are rules and expectations and evaluations and so much more.  Details.  Details.  The devil is in the details and we need to make that devil earn his meals here if he is to remain and to prosper along with us, as we plan to do.

There is training the dog.  Deciding what to do about the bird.  Figuring out who I am and who I want to be.  Dealing with all the detritus from my past.  As well as that from the boyfriend’s past as well.  So many places to touch, so many scars to break open and scrape away the old and the dead.  So much new wood now bursting to shove out shoots and to begin new growth.  I simply need to go in, decide what I want to grow and in which direction it should go, and set things into the ground so that I may nurture and encourage them.  Feed them well.  Water them plentifully without over-watering.  Prune them back as situations adjust and grow.

At least now, I can take that step back, free from my ire and my angst, and look more clearly upon these little seedlings straggling before me.  Now, I can release all of this garbage I have been carrying around on my back and continue the process I have only started here with this clearing away of so much deadwood.  First a shower, and a meal, and then I shall come back, take each little wisp of new life, and delve into its mysteries and where we want it all to go this time.

This time I will seek out the heavens and beyond before I entertain any sort of limit to my goals and desires.  I shall fly on gryffin wings and soar, breathing dragon’s flame and dragon’s desire all over everything, purifying my way, burning away my fears.  I do not expect an easy path.  I do not expect instant perfection.  I do however believe I shall achieve and over-achieve all my goals.  I shall surpass all my very own dreams.

Surely, above all else, I shall prove once again that I am blessed and ever shall be.

Tabitha Kietero

http://knittingjourneymanredux.blogspot.com/
http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/
http://thesilkenthread.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

August 20, 2009 at 11:04 pm

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