pierced ear, dead plant
I pierced my own ear about 3 months ago and it still hasn't fully healed. Sometimes I can go days without thinking about it but other days the discomfort prevents me from easily falling asleep at night. I've learned that sleeping on my left side isn't as horrible as my brain tried to convinced me it would be.
I've learned that beauty is pain, but less literally and rather experiencing pain helps you find beauty in the world. It magnifies the little things. It makes you appreciate the disappointment.
When the plant you've been trying (for months) to keep alive, inevitably dies and you wonder at first "What part of me killed this?". You walk through the past itemizing the process, kicking yourself that you took on the responsibility of a life you weren't able to bring to virtue. You nurtured it, provided a home with love and proper watering, pruning, and sunlight, but when did it become too much? And now it's dead and you’re wondering when is the proper time to accept that it's dead. And what do you do with a dead plant? You can't take a piece of the earth, dead or not, and let it live permanently in a plastic bag, but must you wait for a time to take it out and place it in the grass outside, returned back to a place of proper decay? And how disorienting and uncomfortable it feels to provide what you can only understand as a safe and content home, to realize that it was you not capable of supporting an additional life in the first place.
And so I moved my dead plant off the window sill and put her en route to her final discarded destination and a week later noticed that she got a little sprout. It’s not from the leaves that died (the plant I knew did die) but from the soil. It was a new start, a rebirth. But how painful that must've been to experience death and survive it. Doesn't this signify beauty emerging from pain? Isn't it a testament to the depth of healing found in unexpected places?
On days when I am most aware of my own existence, I find myself tending to fall asleep on my left side. It's a reminder that healing isn't a straight path; it's often the discomfort that leads to profound growth. Pain isn't beauty, but in embracing discomfort, beauty is often found.
