I have so many friends who are getting it on, all of a sudden. Then this morning, another: I got a call from my friend B who had great sex last night with a new lover.
I love that I’m the person she called with this news. And at least two others are under spring’s spell. I am surrounded by women who are feeling the birds and the bees.
And I am so happy for them! I do little yay! dances and want details (really, like those details) and yet I just can’t work up an interest in a lover of my own except in the most theoretical way. Like the trip to Greece that I do really want to take but am not actually saving up for yet…
B came over and we walked down to the creek with Sunshine. She was so alive with her happiness, She shone with it. On the way down the hill to the creek, she told me all about it. I remember what it's like to feel like that. To have my heart swelling with happiness and also with heartbreak. I don’t feel like that. Can I have that without the constant thinking of what my lover is doing, or how he tastes, or what he meant by that text? ‘Cause I am ready for that, I do want the jolt of coming alive again. I love both birds and bees.
On the way to the creek, the woods are new green all over. Everything is extending its most vulnerable parts into the world. The leaves are so tender, so undefended, so willing. And there is no green like the green of new birch leaves and they spangle over each other, serrated heart-shape over serrated heart shape, and they are shiny, and they wave in the wind like pieces of green soft tender glass.
Making something new is so risky. But what else is there to do after winter? We take that dark stuff that winter changed, and allow it to feed us and risk creation.
I said this to B and she suggested that we ask the trees for help with changing our dark stuff, so we did. We each found a tree. Mine was a big leaf maple and I leaned against it one of it’s many trunks. All around me, moss glowed and beneath my feet the dark leaf mulch smelled up at me. Good and clean and new and right. I looked up into the canopy, which is all pale green tree flowers, like a woman wearing a million dangly earrings. But this wasn’t goddess energy, or mysterious ones, as we call the divinely gender queer. It was Green God, the deep and rising and rooted one who I have been lifted by over and over for my whole life. I leaned back and let my whole spine rest against the trunk. There is nothing like a living tree at your back. I could feel the long long sine wave of its tree-paced pulse and it began to penetrate me, to change me, but instead of wanting to have my darkness lifted away, I wanted to fall. To be in love.
So I sang to it. Long vowel sounds that rose and fell and may have sounded like a howl and may have sounded like a siren song and may have sounded like a dying possum. I wasn’t listening, I was only offering and as I Iooked up and my adoration make noises with my body, a crow flew over the canopy and pulled up a twirl, a yodely sort of lasting last call.
It felt awesome.
I don’t want to date a human. I want to date the Green God.