Head of Clouds

The corsican mint abounds.

Patches found 50 feet from where she was originally planted.

Not invasive.

Delightfully profuse!

How did she make such a pilgrimage all on her own?

~

I continue to be immersed in the garden. I had planned to share something practical with you all this month. Something about the diaphragm. I had planned to make you a video with an exercise inviting you into your breath.

But lately I am unable to write about what I know.

Maybe “unable” is not the right word.

It’s more like something deep inside me being pulled away from certainty, toward murkiness and mystery. For the first time in my entire adult life, my mind surrenders.

Perhaps it is the natural tempering of age, the way thoughts get less focused and fast flowing. My mind that could once contain it all (appointments, birthdays, ideas, equations, words) now has leaky spots.

I am unbothered by the change. As I see it, my diminishing capacity for precision and speed is an opportunity to hone new abilities: To say the things that cannot be said quickly, to fine-tune my intuition, to go beyond obvious, to illuminate the depths.

~

Taxes filed late. Inbox unread. Plans not made.

I unearth wayward patches of corsican mint, awestruck by how she traveled so far. Of course, she didn’t get there on her own. She was moved by forces unseen and unknown by me, but known intimately and entirely by the universe.

I tuck small patches around pavers and near plants where I can see and feel and smell her, no idea where I am growing.

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