What is a Georgia peach if not first a seed?
What is a beautifully glazed vase if not first a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel?
What is a fully grown human with tastes, desires, and enjoyments if not first a beating heart pounding in the womb of a woman?
This is the mysterious juxtaposition I find myself settled in
As I sit in reeling from the last 72 hours I just encountered.
Settled. Watered.
I am this sweet Georgia peach, yes – but first a hard seed buried for days, months, maybe even years before my first green sprout stretched its way through the red dirt that’s mixed with the blood, sweat, and tears of my former self. If understand correctly, Georgia peaches can turn to auburn whiskey making the reserved unabashed with the corners of their mouths turned in delight. If I remember correctly, sweet Georgia peaches make the best southern peach cobbler, paired nicely with a scoop of old fashion vanilla ice cream.
I am this beautifully, oblong shaped vase, yes – but first I was hardened clay being spun on a wheel of mundane motion as I tried to fit the mold of what all of me should look like, or be. If I understand correctly, a vase is used to house bouquets of creation’s gifts, tantalizing us with their fragrance while the bees are found wanting. So too, I want to be this vase which holds the created for the sole purpose of giving a flower a place to stand.
I am a fully grown woman with tastes, desires, and enjoyments, yes- but first, I was a beating heart in the womb of my mother. No body told her I would be this evolving creature, ever changing, ever advancing, and ever progressing towards something new and different. First, a needy suckling babe, now woman struggling not to behave in a predictable way. I’d say, I’ve only started this quick change illusion, but come back after intermission and you might see the full story.
And where am I on this spectrum of growth, or change? Somewhere between letting myself be and letting myself die for the sake of transformation.
