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A Traditional Heart
*Drip..*drip..drip*...my eyelids lift once more and the light of the world floods my irises. An afternoon spent lying on the warm wooden kitchen floor. I haven't turned the kitchen sink all the way off and the drops cut the silence in the air. The afternoon glow has snuck its way beside me through the south window, lighting up my hair and my fingertips. There's a raspberry stain on the oven sackcloth that I hadn't noticed before, and a trail of flour hugging the kitchen mat.
Why in God's name have I found myself on the kitchen floor?
The question I often find myself asking over and over again is how have I gotten here?
The one place I have neglected my entire life was the kitchen. Now my favorite room in my home. The place that feels warm and welcoming to my spirit. Growing up in a world where I felt obligated to avoid this very room at all costs. For a woman should not find her place in a kitchen. What they never told me was that this room would be my sanctuary. This is the room that changes with me through the seasons and feeds both me, my future husband, and many generations to come.
In the mornings I shall play the happy harmony of flutes and harps and dance on my own, for I am the queen of the castle.
As many years have left their mark, the wisdom in my heart grows fiercely.
It has become very obvious to me, that I have neglected my traditional heart.
I had grown up very determined to kill my feminine spirit. Reminding myself often that it was weak willed to be soft and fragile. Holding onto the idea that no one could ever be good enough, for I am the only person that can take care of myself.
The feminine woman in me, quickly became tempered with me...and for that I had left her in the darkest and deepest corners of my mind. Forward from then on, I had remained lost and unbothered.
She laid patiently in the depths of my spirit, and shed tears for my sorrows and held my heart when I became silent and detached from the world around me. Then a day came, when I rose up and became planted in the warmth of the dirt beneath me. She lifted her head from her arms, and took notice as I tied a silk ribbon from my hair and draped my body in cloth that flowed freely in the wind.
It was like walking on a single board, across a never ending sea...
Or riding a bike for the first time...
She smiled and just when she thought she was forgotten, I knocked on her door and welcomed her into my sorry heart. For I had realized how much courage it takes to be soft and gentle. For the most fear I have ever known, was being in a world that seemingly swallowed me whole. She taught me how to be compassionate and work with my hands. How to wash my hair with oils and to welcome spring flowers.
Today I have learned that the most beautiful thing about being a woman is indeed her spirit. Something that can be easily lost and forgotten. Let her play in the gardens, and mend her own garments, and write poetry and sing songs.
I will tie the ribbon in my hair, swim in free flowing dresses, and write recipes in my kitchen.
I will walk barefoot in the spring and read close to the candlelight in the fall. I will take care of my nurturing spirit and never neglect it again. I will lie on the kitchen floor and daydream of the days to come once more. A kind and gentle awakening.
You are lovely and fierce,
Carrot Cake Sweetie
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