Thursday meditation
On something sweet
I’m going to try something a little different in this space. Writing is my own place to stand, and lately I haven’t been grounding myself in it enough. I’m giving myself a new challenge: to write first thing every morning, for twenty minutes or half an hour, about whatever my imagination lands on first. I’ll post my results here.
Today’s inspiration is honey.
Honey. Why is this the first thing I thought of today? Never mind…play with it…
The slow flow out of a bottle. (I can’t help picturing the bear-shaped bottles, although I like the glass ones better, ridged, smooth to the touch, reassuringly heavy.) The pure gold of the honey as it coils itself onto a spoon. The way it dissolves into tea, first a sweet slurry, then mingled into another taste and smell, adding its own light tang. The way it crystallizes at the bottom of a jar, granules that sit on the tongue and even crunch between the teeth, mingled still with a touch of syrup.
Honey is…the way I think of the color of my hair. A friend once called it “true gold,” red enough to be a little richer than blonde. Lately I’ve noticed more silver in it. Sometimes I think I see a difference between photos of me now, and photos from a few years ago…my hair’s fading noticeably, not quite as bright as it was. I’ve never worried about aging, and I suspect I’ll like how silver looks too, but I think I’ll be sorry when the honey-color is gone.
Different flavors of honey. The clover that we all know. I remember when I first tasted wildflower honey, when I was little – it was darker and stronger, earthier, and I remember I didn’t like it. It tasted “wrong.” Manuka honey, the immunobooster, rich and cloudy, dense and sharp on the tongue. Raw honey straight from the comb. A honey throat drop, when you’re struggling with a cold. Something so reassuring in that smoothness: don’t worry, this will fix it, you’ll see.
Honey is bees, of course. In the yard, the thicket of mint I accidentally grew, when I planted two little sprays of it ten-plus years ago. Back then, I didn’t know how fast and completely mint takes over. Every year in the fall, I contain it again, pulling up the long stems and roots, but I can’t get rid of it, and wouldn’t if I could. Bees and butterflies crowd it when it blooms. Every bee sighting a celebration, especially the small ones, unassuming, with their dusty bodies – the honeybees, rarest of all these days, the ones we need most. The yard becomes a haven for these tiny creatures. I don’t know where their hive is, but I can imagine the honeycombs, running full, waxy-sweet.
Honey is color, texture, flavor. Nothing else quite like it.
If you’d like, please use the prompt for your own creativity, and feel free to share thoughts/responses in the comments. I’d love to read them.
About A Place to Stand:
I started this column in hopes of creating a bit of space and sharing light in challenging times. Drawing on my own experience as a trauma survivor, I offer meditative exercises using creative writing and music, my two professional/artistic pursuits. I also share some of my own writing and thoughts on the creative process. You can find out more about me and my work at my website.
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