Lostness and lemon trees
I feel I write the same email over and over in slightly different ways but it’s been a while so here’s my unrequested soup of thoughts in email form.
On Tuesday I came back to myself, which coincided with the rebirth of my lemon tree which though neglected by me (like myself by myself) , somehow from somewhere got a new surge of life.
I really thought that creatively that was it for me, my last lemon had been plucked and squeezed and I was just dry old leaves and flakey bark forever.
Like, I really felt like all my words had dried up. I sat at my empty note pad every morning for weeks and no words fell.
My inbox, full of requests to write posts/ads/emails and there was nothing there, empty space.
But then, on Tuesday I woke up full of song and words and joie de fucking vivre again, and there, was the dead lemon tree (that we buried my kids rat under - no, I will not eat the lemons, or make lemonade from them, ever) bursting with new green branches and little baby lemon buds and I guess I wanted to share it because maybe the fog has crept in for you and maybe you stopped doing all the shit that makes you feel good, bed un made, dishes un washed, vegetables wilting in the fridge. But maybe, like the lemon tree some new tangy buds are about to sprout and in a flash life is full of possibility again? Fuck knows, all I know is, how it surprises me every time, how different life, the world and my body can look and feel from one day to the next, and that the more I loosen my grip on these feelings and the less label them as ‘truths’ the easier it is to pass from crunchy leaves to lemon buds (and back again and round and round)
I definitely don’t know how to stop this never ending cycle and whether it’s something we all do with different sized turning circles. But I do know how good it feels to come home, every single time. And how scary it is in the lostness, even when I remember that I am the lemon tree (minus the rat).
On Tuesday I came back to myself, which coincided with the rebirth of my lemon tree which though neglected by me (like myself by myself) , somehow from somewhere got a new surge of life.
I really thought that creatively that was it for me, my last lemon had been plucked and squeezed and I was just dry old leaves and flakey bark forever.
Like, I really felt like all my words had dried up. I sat at my empty note pad every morning for weeks and no words fell.
My inbox, full of requests to write posts/ads/emails and there was nothing there, empty space.
But then, on Tuesday I woke up full of song and words and joie de fucking vivre again, and there, was the dead lemon tree (that we buried my kids rat under - no, I will not eat the lemons, or make lemonade from them, ever) bursting with new green branches and little baby lemon buds and I guess I wanted to share it because maybe the fog has crept in for you and maybe you stopped doing all the shit that makes you feel good, bed un made, dishes un washed, vegetables wilting in the fridge. But maybe, like the lemon tree some new tangy buds are about to sprout and in a flash life is full of possibility again? Fuck knows, all I know is, how it surprises me every time, how different life, the world and my body can look and feel from one day to the next, and that the more I loosen my grip on these feelings and the less label them as ‘truths’ the easier it is to pass from crunchy leaves to lemon buds (and back again and round and round)
I definitely don’t know how to stop this never ending cycle and whether it’s something we all do with different sized turning circles. But I do know how good it feels to come home, every single time. And how scary it is in the lostness, even when I remember that I am the lemon tree (minus the rat).
A few words a dragged out of the dry well that was April:
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