From my journal, Sept 2009:
Awaiting blackberries’ ripeness as if atnicipating my own readiness…for what and for whom?
I will not longer offer it gift wrapped and prettified–the effort drains me and makes it somehow less real, less immediate. The pretty paper invites trivialization anyway.
Next time I will hold it out, bleeding and scarred. I will call out my own injury with ferocity, daring the recipient to accept it for what it truly is: a blood sacrifice. there is no ribbon to cover the wounds, no glossing over the imperfections. Easy to accept the gentle curves of the body, but what about the bleeding, beating beast it contains? Easy to hear the cries of ecstasy, but what about the moans of sorrow? I am both and none.
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