I am between bent branch and developing green fruit. Umbilical cords waiting for maturity to sweeten the infant fruit until they fall, because they can’t fly. They are cut from mother’s life source to become the life source for another—insects, birds, beasts, humans. Or is homo sapien man the beast? Mammal and fruit attach to their developing child. A single tree with hundreds of umbilical cords, little edible babies at the end, colored over time by a June solstice sun. Umbilical stems, cords, spiritual threads of life connecting and disconnecting my being in intricate form. I am ingesting self. Yes, we are all one. We are all from potent engorged cords that fed us into autonomy, to become for something other. It is all becoming. Cells multiply and shape, then green, then color, then fly with gravity to the waiting soil. We leave mother’s womb this way, cut from cord to soft brown soil. Death awaits the after cut expecting the fall to soil, to oneness, to renewal into what could be. Umbilical life, connecting and disconnecting. My breath is cut. The after here awaits my greening.
© zaji, 2016