photo credit: Peas, on Flicker
Before my back injury, mine looked very much like this. It didn’t do well with the tender care of three teenage boys, and yesterday I decided to see what could be done to save it. The poor thing was about 90% dead leaves.
My Jew is sentimental to me, symbolic. I am very much a symbolism sort, those kinds of things connect deep inside, and help me in the daily remembering. I am also a diehard fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, which is odd for me to say, as I usually shudder at the thought of being a ‘fan’ of anything or anyone. That said, “The Silmarillion” especially, but the whole “Lord of the Rings” series also, spoke strongly to me in the early stages of my healing journey, and helped me along the path. The first time I encountered one of these plants was in the summer of ’08, on a day extremely meaningful to me. I had never seen a plant like it, shimmering silver, purple, and forest green. It wasn’t labeled, but I bought it and brought it home. It was very Elven looking to me, and fit the significance of the day in my heart. I didn’t even know what the plant was until this past year! My original had been left behind when my children and I fled, and I had cried a bit over that plant. Then last year I ran into it again, and again one came home with me, this time with a name. I had my Elven plant back, my commemoration to that day.
Coming home and finding it nearly dead didn’t make me too happy. My oldest-at-home son took it down from it’s hook for me before leaving for school. I set to work on it about 9am, house quiet. I love quiet mornings. I’ve come to accept I Need quiet about as much as I Need air.
The Jew didn’t want to co-operate. Seriously. It held onto those dead leaves like it’s life depended on it, while the still living colorful tendrils fell off all over my counter with barely a breath on them. I soon had a glass of water stuffed full of tendrils and leaves, and a potted plant with all sorts of very dead, very thin, threadlike but hard as wire bare brown tendrils.
It got me to thinking…how firmly do I clench onto the dead, dry shoots in my life that I should be letting go of? And how often do I throw off the vibrant, living shoots in order to cling to the old dead ones?