The Benefits of Filter Application

Sometimes when I fall asleep I still dream dreams that I used to dream, but now I dream different ones, too. Very different.

But in the last 37 days it seems like everything is different. I’m not even one person anymore; I’m kind of two, but still one. I’m me and then someone else got mixed into me. And I got mixed into them. We’re one flesh. That’s different. Very nice, but different.

I live in a different place too. There are buildings everywhere, and cars and car-sounds; people and pavement. I miss the woods and the cows grazing alongside my dead-end country road. I miss fishing in the pond behind my little house and sitting on the roof overlooking acres and acres of pasture. I miss sloshing through the creek, black lab in tow, grass clippings sticking to my bare feet as I walk to the house past my dad mowing the lawn and into the kitchen, my mom making dinner. I miss the stars, sans light pollution.

I’m glad of the change though; I don’t think I would have been happy in the same place forever. And this is a nice home too, because it is ours: mine and his. And I know if I went back, I’d miss this. It seems that whichever place I’m in, I’m homesick; but then again it seems that no matter which place I’m in, I’m home.

There’s been so much change and what’s strange is I seem to be enjoying it. I miss the old but I’m embracing the new and I’m surprising myself. Normally I hate significant change of any kind. But there’s been so much and I feel ready for even more; I want to cut my hair short again.

It’s always an adventure, and in adventures there’s always some danger; some discomfort. But then there’s always thrill. Oh, the thrill! And fun, and brave new winds blowing and we’re traveling towards something. I don’t know what but I’m determined to forge ahead, stumbling into all sorts of messes and miracles. The messes I’ll learn from and in the miracles—small as they might be—I’ll rejoice.

Because there’s always something to rejoice in. Sometimes a lot, and sometimes just a little, but always something.

I know that sometimes it’s hard to see. I know that sometimes life is like a photograph taken with the flash on. So much bright and with the aperture wide open so that every blemish is highlighted, shutter speed slowed to show garish glares and shadows, sharp and cutting. Sometimes it hurts to look. But sometimes I think there’s no shame in applying some filters. Soften the edges, warm the skin tones. Sometimes that’s all it takes to show the beauty that was there already. Sometimes it’s important to see every scar and every pore, but other times it’s best to overlook the inevitable imperfections in favor of all the good that exists. I’ll overlook for now and be happy and I will lose myself to this moment, when I watch you building and your kiss tastes like whiskey, so deep and smooth and biting and warm; all the very best of us string ourselves up for love but this I will never regret. Because sometimes I wish so hard that I was a mannequin but you never do. Sometimes when I fall asleep I still dream dreams that I used to dream, but now I wouldn’t trade you for them.

Girl of the Earth

I love the smell of soil and rain-wet leaves. I love burying my feet in the sand as if I am growing from the earth myself. My hands raised, I am a woman-tree; through the bottoms of my feet I absorb what is good from the land and even when I step away I feel I am nature’s cousin. I am, after all, made by God from the dust of this planet; I am, I often feel, a Girl of the Earth.

I am Girl of the Earth and I never cease to wonder at the clay from which I was made; the atmosphere through which my being came forth. All around me is its majesty and I am proud to be related in some way to this planet; to share the same Creator. The ocean is black and it merges seamlessly with the night sky, stars and sea occupying the same dark space, as if the earth ends here. Waves groan, swelling white-crested from the darkness, groping desperately at the shore. With joined hands we stand at the edge where the waves can break against our feet, foamy fingers wrapping around our ankles. We stare out into the roaring abyss, watching lightning in the distance. Here at the edge of the world he kisses me, long and deep, as we seem to drown in wave-roars and cool, salty night air. I am one flesh with him and together we are siblings with creation and children of God and nothing could be more wondrous or mysterious than this. Even my dreams are neither as strange nor as beautiful as this reality. It rises slowly, swelling, pulsing, then explodes in a fray of sparkle and light. I am Girl of the Earth and my tectonic plates move and shift in time with it, over and under and around each other, creating and filling spaces within me so that I too pulse its rhythm.
Even as I sleep it beats.

I am Girl of the Earth and I’ve lived a thousand years in the night. I can feel the dreams in my bones still. I lie on my back amidst the blankets, arms stretched out and ankles crossed, crucified to the morning.

I dreamed that when we die we all become one disembodied entity, all consciousnesses mixing and intermingling with one another, a melting together of souls. Feeling, celebrating, and mourning together; knowing and wondering as one. In my dream, lonely people wanted to die and join the communion of souls. And when I woke I wondered if they would be quite so lonely if they realized that they too were part of this grand, fantastical reality. That they also are of the earth, of each other, and of God.

I am Girl of the Earth and I will never want for magic.


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