We both know that once it goes beyond a thought it never stays perfect."I remember my reaction. It was a visceral one. Deep-rooted. Instinctual. Emotional. I adore using my intellect, but somethings cannot be explained.
They are skin-deep and mountain high. They come from a place of deeper knowing.
One that cannot be plotted and plodded like a field of corn with its sweet neat little rows of green stalks all aligned and composed.These things come from the wilderness. They are gnarly, snarled.
Their brambles get caught in your silk stockings and rip them to shreds.
So you take off the stockings.
You don't need them out here in the woods.
You can be free.
Free to walk in your bare feet and feel the mossy goodness of the ground beneath them without the barrier of false security.
I've golfed barefooted when the shoes I wore chafed me and it felt wonderful. Natural. Real. I got strange looks for doing it but I never felt steadier or more connected to my swing than when I could dig my toes into that grass & feel my self anchored to Nature.
As to perfect?Perfection is highly overrated. It's a castle in the sky. A vaunted knight on his white charger, lance ready to battle dragons with one arm while he holds you tightly with the other.Perfection is a fatuous child's dream.
I prefer reality.The raw. The real.The occasional dirty puddle on a city sidewalk you step through. A little wet. A little dirty. Never hurt anybody.In fact, it's liberating.
Remember when you were a kid, rolling around on the grass. Bits of earth, rock and debris clinging to your hair, to your clothes?Did you care? Was it fun?Do you remember?Like when you bit into that luscious ripe peach and let it drench you in its juicy goodness. The messiness. The stickiness.
The sweetness you just licked off your fingers and wiped down the front of your shirt. Were you worried about perfect then?No.Perfection.An illusion. A distraction. An unknowable, indefinable, unreliable notion of man's. A good excuse to stop. To stop the trying and the wanting and the needing. There's life in the dust we keep wiping off.
Entire universes ready to be explored. For every perfect, there's an equally compelling imperfect. That crack in the crystal of that Golden Bowl. It makes all the more precious because it can shatter at any moment. Especially when you constantly dust it.It's fragility makes it more appealing for those like me.
So you treat it like it was your last spoonful of chocolate custard. Your very last sip of the rarest French burgundy.You savor it... slowly, carefully, indulgently.Marvelling at its silky texture. Inhaling its earthy aromas. Letting it flow over you, in you, through you.
That anticipation of those few last drops of elixir, of essence.The thrill of knowing that it will not last forever, but that while it's swirling in your mouth and on your tongue, it is divinely flavorful and you will make the most of it.I don't look for perfect.I look for wonderful.There is beauty in the flaws.Vulnerability, sweetness.That's where the humanity lies.
That's what makes us, the human species, so beautiful, the empathy, the compassion, the tender hurt.
I adore Cristal, Dom Perignon, Tattinger Comte de Comte, but they are often too precious to bathe in. I relish them, but not their ultimate cost.That champagne... I want to swim in it. I need the intoxication.
The headiness. The POP of those bursting bubbles.
So... I drink other sparkling wines, too. Cavas, Proseccos, good old Napa Valley...Clean.
Still complex, still layered in flavor yet somehow simpler, yeastier, toastier, bolder... exploding in me.swim, Swim,
SWIM... I can drown in this... In it, I can sparkle and flow.
I want to make the world rain with champagne.
Oh so goddamn GOOD!!!But sparkling wine is just as yummy... Not perfect, but... much more realistic.What do you say to someone who's afraid to fly because the color of the sky might change while you were airborne?
I'm stealing this little gem from Simply Scott's bulletin this morning.He's right. It is beautiful even if you don't speak Spanish.Love is a universal language, after all, isn't it?
El Árboleste
amor que tengo para darte
es único, inmenso y puro
este amor que tengo para darte
es kármico, desde otras vidas te lo traigo
terminé
solita meditando
bajo el mismo árbol
bajo el mismo cielo de ayer
terminé
solita canturreando
la canción del árbol
la canción del cielo de ayer
y así es como lo quería yo…
este amor que yo acumulaba
tan cíclico, si lo mataba sabia renacer
dentro de un baúl te lo guardaba
presagiando que un día te lo entregaría
terminé
solita meditando
bajo el mismo árbol
bajo el mismo cielo de ayer
terminé
solita canturreando
la canción del árbol
la canción del cielo de ayer
y así es como lo quería yo…
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