When I take out my food scraps to the compost pile I think of alchemy. What was once a part of a tomato growing on a vine becomes part salad and part compost. Even that was once something different; a seed.
Soon that tomato heart will melt into the compost pile and become a part of fertilizer which may grow another tomato or an onion. But whatever happens to it one thing is certain-it will not be the tomato it once was.
It did not merely change but through alchemy went from being one thing to something else.
I am just now seeing the same process in me.
Through this long progression of going from being a wife and a mother to young children to a single woman with adult children, I see my own transformation.
I began as that tomato. I was cut up in so many ways and bore witness to pieces being tossed. Then the painful process of breaking down, so that even those pieces melted away.
Now I am becoming part of something larger. I am enriched and enriching the soil of the soul and of life.
This can only come from pain; a sort of death from which new life springs.
I get it. I could not stay that which I was. Change is not a choice. My only choice is acceptance.
Not a grim and sad acceptance but more an understanding and patience. That comes about through this process we’ve talked so much about.
I see that “looking for love” is so much more about seeing the love that exists–in me.
Honestly, I don’t care any more about being in a relationship of the romantic kind. I’m questioning if I ever did. It seems to me that I’m interested in being in a relationship of the full spectrum available: Mom, friend,grandmother,teacher,co-worker, helper and fellow adventurer in life.
It’s true that we get what we truly seek.
I sought truth, peace, love and belonging and I got that. I sought to perform the alchemy of turning heart ache to happiness, or maybe contentment. I thought it meant finding someone new to love. But it didn’t
It meant loving all that’s in me and around me better.
Thus concludes The Angry Onion. There is no anger, no searching for love, no onions nor guys who cook with them.
Finally solitude has brought me precisely where I need to be. Nothing like a cold and lonely winter to tune up the wisdom and tune out the need to fix something.
Tonight I composted that tomato and half an onion. I wish them patience and detachment through their break down and alchemy. When I compost I think of change and the fact that the biggest transitions are often the least dramatic.
One day walking down the little steps, past the neighbors house under a silent sky I wanted nothing I didn’t already have.