It’s been a liquid existence for the past few months – growth in short spurts but nothing of note. The window looks have been full of sunrises and sets, but without much action. Suddenly, movement. Out of the water and a pair of red gloved hands grabbed me, well, grab is too harsh. I was lifted out of my state of being and held in mid air. I tried to look down at what was underneath me, but, realizing that I was without eyes, I had to just feel my way in the air. My roots, for so long allowed to grow and become moist, were suddenly exposed. Though cold at first, the jolt gave me new notice of myself. Below, the dark but seemingly soft matter was calling to me. Asking for a release and trust that, if I would allow myself to once again to allow for help, I might grow a bit more. We’ll see. The trust has been hard to learn, but avocados are notorious for being free of what was once known. It’s all strange, but there’s excitement ahead. I saw goodbye to window watching and turn to the future of hidden roots. I must remember that their lack of being seen has nothing to do with their actual presence.
In my growth, I start to understand my history. I’m enjoying that search. There is a sense of understand from knowing. Why, I’ve lived a few lifetimes already. Full Avocado, Stripped down and dunked, and now this. You’d think the life of an avocado would be all parties with chips and salsa, but there’s tons of work going on behind the scenes. I’m not quite sure I should have my skin off though The sun is getting stronger, and everyone outside seems to be coming out and blooming with me. That’s where I am right now, examining my history. Enjoyable.
The windows are open after a long winter. There is no longer fear outside. Today we did fresh cooking. They came back with red bags after a few hours of being out. I see the other veggies chopped and wonder if I looked like that. These guys though, I think they have it pretty tough. They’ve been chopped up, but I can’t see their pits, which to me means it’s the end of the road for them. I’m lucky to have been born an avocado it seems. I forget that once in awhile, and then I see some of the poor fruits and veggies who pass through each day and don’t have that chance to regrow. It’s all about who you are I suppose. I’m enjoying the sunshine these days and look forward to it each night. There is tons of growth at night though, and it’s more painful than taking in the sun is, but I’m getting to enjoy both parts. The roots are really giving me some lower body strength, which I feel is important. The water and I are becoming quite friendly. Herb is always talking, always growing, and always getting picked, which I think he enjoys. Me, there is a new me each day, and the slowness of the growth allows me to enjoy each step. There is a lot of preparation in the human food. They must undergo so much process to get fed. Me, I don’t need to do anything other than watch the sun come up. It’s good to be an avocado.
It’s only when you are held up, against a sky, under the almost night,
in the almost winter
That you understand
the magnificence of silence.
It’s in this silence that you can really listen.
I heard it was the birthday of the late Charlie Mingus, and it made me think of my little guy who passed over a year ago. Well over a year ago. I miss him terribly and look for him when I’m blue as I used to, only to find that he’s gone.
It makes me older.
And so I grew today, though with a bit of sadness for the absence of my good and loyal friend.I cried all day inside, so deep that I didn’t know it. It’s only now, that it’s come to the surface, that I realize what I was holding in.
My little guy I do not like letting go of you into memory. Into the past. I have that feeling in my pit of stale pain. The kind that does not escape – it doesn’t want to.
But the sky is amazing. Maybe it was you telling me not to cry.
Anyhow, I’m growing.
Now that’s what I’m talking about! Herb next to me gave the insides a little motivation and now I’ve got it going. Why, it’s almost a tree! Perhaps the birds outside will find their way in here and perch themselves on me. I can’t believe this is coming from inside of my pit. My whole life, I thought my outsides of soft green and rough skin where my true self, but now I realize that it’s all inside of me – it’s all in the potential that not even I can see. Life is all beneath the surface and that’s pretty fantastic to know. It saves me from looking in the mirror because that reflection has very little to do with what’s really important to see. Keep splitting open I tell myself. Yes, keep cracking yourself up with laughter and a true bloom will emerge. It’s honest and real and everything that feels right about life. What a journey so far.
“Hi Frank. I’m Herb. Upstate’s where I’m from. I just left all my friends, but I’m rooted well and have some family with me. You alone here?”
“I’m not. There’s a cat across the way, squirrels that perform acrobatics and birds not being swayed by the brease. Plus, I’m growing.”
Herb looked at Frank’s short spurt and tuned a dark green. “Pal, I don’t want you to get jealous when I show you what growth’s all about. Most of me is still underground. You okay in that water?”
“Yeah – I’m good with it now. Getting here was a little odd. I’m not what I used to be, but not fully what I’m supposed to be.”
“Okay Pal. Whatever you say. Me, I’m going to hang on the sill with you for a bit if it’s all the same for you.”
“It’s not all the same for any of us. Not a day of it.”
“It was an expression, Pal. Be Easy with it.”
I had company for the first time, as if the blooming trees from outside had reached through the glass and took a spot next to me. Herb seems cool and smells amazing. The windows are being opened more and more, and when they are, the wind blows the scent of Herb right to me and I understand how amazing life is through his abilities.
Since I’ve stopped drinking, my mornings have gotten much brighter. I’m opening up and feel like things are finally growing in the right direction. Underwater, everything is good. While the sun was rising, I saw a few of the early Bluejays that have made their way to Brooklyn to capture the fresh blooms of the trees outside. There is talk on the radio about recovery from Sandy – and even in my limited scope, I can see the after-effects. A huge tree stump where a great great cousin of mine must have stood, is all that remains. It reminds me of the book I was reading during the winter. I wish the stump outside had a chance to grow as I’m doing, but perhaps I’m going to take over his aging process. It’s hard not to look at the future when you’re engaged in present moments, so I try to focus on the mellowness of the water below and look forward to the day when they might come and take these toothpicks away. They check on me each morning, which helps. Looking down, they say “Frank, you’re growing!” I know I’m growing, I don’t need people to tell me that, but it’s nice to hear. Just knowing that there are others thinking of you sometimes provides incentive to expand.