sweetgrass

i was introduced to sweet grass during ceremony,
its presence distinct.
invitation in.
the darkness that illuminates.

i went to visit a dear friend ashley at the people’s apothecary,
she had sweetgrass, braided locally at sakari farm.
a joy and honor to burn it in our home.

in the summer of 24,
sweetgrass macerated in grapeseed oil lined my wrists.
leaning into relationship.

as i prepared for another surgery,
number seven.

i had inserted breast implants eleven years prior,
a step on the path of finding peace with the shape of my body.
i needed to have them replaced on the tenth year, the summer of my accident.
i postponed.
six surgeries in a little over a year, preparing for the next.
my knee surgeon was at the same hospital as my plastic surgeon.
i wondered if i could do both together.
they agreed, happy to help.
surgeries seven and eight.

choice.
to have my implants replaced
or removed.
to be honest, i loved them.
the look, shape, feel.
the comfort of conforming to a modeled ideal of the feminine body.
searching until an understanding that to keep them would be ok.
removal also an option.
nothing inherently wrong with either choice.

question.
what if?
what if i explored being in this world exactly as i am?
what would it be like to remove the unnatural padding of protection around my heart?
would i be catapulted back to familiar shame of my shape?

decision.
to trust.

i had both surgeries.
i have had some time to develop post surgery ritual.
i come home
shower
and stand naked in front of the mirror.

curious.
my partner entered the room as tears were streaming down my face.
present and wanting to understand.
our eyes met in the reflection of the mirror-
’i’ve had eight surgeries
i am almost forty
i just had my implants removed
and i have never felt more beautiful.’

i stood there gazing at my naked body in the mirror
awe
deep admiration
unfathomable gratitude
for her.
me.

each moment.
heartache
joy
confusion
despair
inspiration
that brought me to

this moment.
a weaving of past. present. future.

a teaching that the process is not imperfect,
my understanding of the process is incomplete.

hierochloe odorat, sweet grass
gifted from the home garden of dear friends
three strands
as above
so below
within
so without.

may your path weave sweetly.
all ways.
always.