Feeling hurt is
finding a truffle in the dark winter woods
of you.
You have
rooted out
a wound buried,
which has seasoned and
layered with the woodsiness of human separateness, now:
tasting like the salt of tears,
surfacing the mustiness of blocked light,
satisfying the earthiness of BEing.
No longer numb,
our tongues appreciate
the blossoming of such pockets
we have found deep beneath the rich soil
of our clay-created flesh.
The bruised heart within
sends out a beacon to the intrepid searcher.
So tenderly we can brush away
the clinging dirt, and place
such a find
in the fabric-lined cradle
of our baskets.
Promised Recipe:
Wash thy wound; slice
and saute and add this depth to
all dishes now and yet to be.
Thank the pig whose talented nose
found such a treasure
to bring to the tables
of the courageous.
Life as Improv 
an endearing recipe, marga!
i’m not even disappointed
that is wasn’t chocolate 🙂
After the savory,
usually comes the
chocolate (doesn’t
it seem so?) – next up
a semi-sweet dark and salty
chaser 🙂
Brilliant marga. So succinctly tells it the way it is, or can be if you are willing, and with grace shows the way to healing. I have many such truffles that have added to my Being, and no doubt more to come. They are more delicious than they used to be as I have come to understand their value. There’s no escape. There’s only welcoming *everything*
Alison ❤
Oh, how it warms my heart to be not only speaking about, but actually living along in this savory meal with you!
Dear Marga – How synchronous that I saved reading this one until today. It describes to a “T” (hehe) my journey yesterday. In a literal woods behind the house where I am staying, I literally stumbled across a truffle that was jarred loose by my fall ( no damage done, just a wake up call) and my dear Tomas and I sat upon a stone slab near the trail and sliced and diced up the truffle until I saw it as an opportunity for service to the ALL by transmuting my personal connection to it. Once I was able to see the truffle in the context of service, my old wound was healed and I was able to dedicate my process to the Collective. And on we went. Yes, thanks to the pig, whose nose turned up the stone in my path and caused me to HAVE to stop and consider — and re-consider — just what the heck was going on here??? Much love to you, Dear Lady, Allia
I’m so glad you are okay. These truffles do have a way of tripping us up, so purposefully! I have had such long stretches of detachment that when my daughter had some painful experience, instead of feeling detached, I felt a tender bruising on my inside. It too took me some time to consider and reconsider, what is the feeling, ouch, it hurts, why? I am not going to turn away, and finally the realization of the gift of feeling! Much love back to you! I love imaging you and Tomas going along the journey together in the woods! xo! marga
Your words hold the wound carefully, Marga. I flinched a tad at the pig, wondered about that one, but settled into the innocence of oinking, of following the scent, of being who one is given to be… Your language circles around the grace at the core of the truffle, through taste and perspective, inward and outward moving, through flavors and textures. I could taste the woodsy herbs of healing…
Michael
I, too, flinched a tad at the pig, wondering at the implication. Then I realized that it is indeed pigs that are best for finding truffles, and I wasn’t meaning anyone or anything in particular.
Pig seemed to connect also to our tendency to lash out when our wounds are touched, to perhaps look at the one who has helped to reveal this pain and lash out. Watching myself and many others, it does seem a human phenomenon to react to sudden pain with blame or name-calling or a wanting to kick the cat or pound the wall, etc.
Doesn’t it seem as if we play these roles for each other. I used to assume the useful role was always the supportive and loving one, but as I have gotten more cleared out, at times, I could see how sometimes I am used as the agitator or trickster (a pig-like role at times). The key to knowing the difference between acting out and being useful in ways way beyond my human comprehension seems to be with the emotional charge. When I am used in these counter roles, when I am the pig to your truffle or the pig to my own truffles, or someone else is playing pig to me, pointing out my bruised spot, I often have no thought or judgement, it just unfolds as if there could have been no other way. Later, too, there isn’t a lingering emotional life to the playing out; it seems just a happening. I’m not sure what this phenomenon is, or even how to explain it properly. Am I making any sense? Words. Would be nice to transmit without language, when it fails me.
We are spring-like, sending you tidings of good things on their way to you!
You are making sense, Marga. At least in one way that I am hearing you. I liked your line “being used” as I would agree we often find ourselves in situations where we realize the others see us as the pig in their own lives. Nothing we did. We provide that gift to them. No way to plan or intend it. We just arrive in a particular scene of their life. It seems to me it often works in both directions simultaneously.
I’m as of yet far more likely to respond adversely, than to step through it with non-judgment. But I’ve developed the knowing that if I give it time, the true flavor of what I consumed will reveal itself to me. It isn’t an emotional reaction, as you say, more like a deepening awareness of what it means to be yourself. Like you took a long drive, alone, and got to know yourself a little better in the silence of it all.
I think you’re right– being nice, being “loving”, can cloud the point. There’s an honesty that wants to come through. And not as a blunt object. As a compassionate candor perhaps. Maybe even a silent giving. I think that is why I’m so often in the situations I find myself, to develop experientially this insight into how I react, how I lash out before I can even see myself doing it. How I fling so many needless thoughts around when provoked in certain ways…
Oink, oink, oink…
Michael