In Avalon, it is said, there is a grove of apple trees. They are in bloom with spring blossoms, fragrant with sweet promise, fleshed, with green leaves and full of ripe fruit, releasing dead leaves, roots nourished by rotting fallen fruit, in all seasons at once. It is the place a soul goes to be reborn. I am that tree, grieving and leaving one love, embracing and tasting one love, holding and anchoring one love. I am blooming, feasting, letting go, all in one.
Too new to even say the word, love. She is direct and solid, so gentle and relentlessly open hearted and I am afraid to say it – afraid that I can’t trust my heart or hers because…
She broke up with me a month ago, after two months of leaving me in little ways. I sneaked out of her bed to cry, I lay by her in the morning, feverishly hot, waiting in hope she would come back into the circle of my heart. I believed we could make it because…
She loves me so solidly, honourably, patiently. We have won through to sureness, to wholeness, to being able to say anything. To absolute trust. She says with each new partner I learn to love her better. And so I…
Open my heart even when it is swollen with grief.
Speak my mind and needs because I know I must learn from my mistakes.
In this magical space, Avalon, island of perpetual growth, death, rebirth.
In the space between, I trust what will be reborn.