My garden altar is planted (har-har) beneath a white mulberry tree that occupies a far corner of our backyard, and today (acutally, yesterday, thank you very much Blogger) the tree is blooming for the very first time since we moved here five years ago. Five years of piss, blood, and tears offerings. Five years of celebrations, meditation, and Journeying beneath its branches. Each year something more of the nature of this specific mulberry is revealed. It wasn't until two years ago that I even knew it was a cunt tree. That same year, just a few days before the dawning of the vernal equinox, I gave birth to my third daughter and named her after a mythological flaunter of the cunt. This year it blooms.
Courting is so often a long practice and a test of one's patience--be it human, plant, animal, spirit, or deity that one is trying to woo. Nothing is guaranteed, and there are no entitlements.
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