Flower of Eden

Funny how we can swing so easily from elation to desolation, from the echoes of harmonies to the howl of harbingers... We tend to find cures for all ailments of the fluctuating human psyche - drown the witches, pop pills for inner demons, weight loss with lemon juice... our evolution suggests that we forever have and probably forever will attempt to eradicate our irrationalities with the trendiest, technologically savvy cure-all. If only it were that simple, but then - if it were - how boring!

Our lives are formed by the dips and rises, the debilitating and the riveting. We are constantly challenged with threats to our perceptions and egos, placating the insecurity with anger or self-medication, allowing the inconsistencies to become reason enough to change or hold fast, according to the depths of our wills and the fluidity or rigidity of our beliefs...

I am anxious. More often than not, I am wound up with a tentative outlook to my relationships with this world. It is difficult to overcome the knowledge of the demise of all things - and, like plucking a beautiful flower to dwindle and die in my dark bedroom, I know it is futile to try and extenuate the fleeting life of the extraordinary. Greatness dies and remains a memory, a haunting force of what was, and what is possible. I want to revel in the glorious, swim in an immeasurable abyss of bliss, and create with a force as beautiful and seemingly effortless as that blooming flower...

But the desire to hold tight is the very root of my anxieties. Everything must grow at its own will, its own time and with its unique temperament. Evolution cannot be stopped, cannot be smothered by my sweaty, stifling grasp. The hardest part is letting go - letting life run it's own course, letting all those things I hold dear create their own lives - and feeling blessed by their company, should I be graced with it.

It is this way with you, too. You are my flower, and often I wish I could keep you forever in my room to admire and fondle. It is terrifying to step back and let you move through space at your own will, as I fear you will be just as happy and inspiring without me. Possessiveness is rearing its ugly head again, when I am unsure of where you are 2000 miles away, I have moments of insecurity that my flower has found more fertile soil, more abundant light, more space in that place of excitement from all new things - or worse, the memory of the garden to which you have returned has instilled in you an intense longing to thrive ... and this eden is so far away from me.