Let's Bust the Container

The word bulb is a strange word. Rolling its sound around, I feel my tongue expand in the back of my mouth while it also wants to tuck its tip behind my front teeth. My throat almost groans, and the tone feels contained. I can’t hold the vibration for too long because it wants to get out of my mouth. Strange how this comes so close to replicating the very life of a bulb.

For instance, look at garlic cloves bundled under sheaves of tissue. No matter how I store them, there comes a time when a sprout cannot be contained. It reaches outside of itself as if it cannot live in that encapsulated form anymore. “No way! I’m out of here.”

And there It is. A stretch of life into life.

Everything in nature eventually reaches outside itself if it can; that is if it does not die of rot or lack of nutrition or disease. We are all meant to come blinking out of our dark caves or holes in the Earth or warrens of apartments. We are sun people. The rhythm of our existence is dictated by, is literally dependent on, the sun around which our planet rotates.

I’ve seen so many faces of friends recently who are pale from their isolation during this last year. Their reaction times are slower. Their feet are shuffling. They are despondent. We can only live for so long in isolation and without the stimulation of light and free breath.

The sun came out between raindrops today. I took myself into my front patio and turned my face toward the light like I was a sunflower. When I felt the front of me warm, I made a quarter turn to my right and let the left side of me bask, then I turned allowing my back to soak in the rays, then I pointed my right side toward the sun. I was sunbathing, much like I do when I take a moon bath on a full moon night. It is the only way I can experience touching these days. The act lifted my heart and filled my head with brighter thoughts. I gave thanks for my sun blessing.

I stood in this current life experience much like a bulb must feel, ready to explode into a larger expression of myself, something bigger, lighter, brighter.

Even though that groundhog predicted six more weeks of winter, I will not lose one opportunity to stand in the sun and shine as best as I can. I’m ready to sprout, how about you?