Why do I feel uncomfortable starting this letter with a link to When Harry Met Sally? For the love of God, it’s 2019.
I’m fifty one years old—a mother—sex happens!
Damn that apple from the Tree of Knowledge.
Now that I’ve got your attention, can we talk about the scene’s last line?
“I’ll Have What She’s Having”
Yesterday I read a meditation from J. Krishnamurti in which he offered a metaphor that I’ve stolen and transformed….
Your neighbor has a fountain in his backyard.
When you visit,
you admire the sun’s rays glinting off its cascading water,
the bubbling sound calms your senses,
you feel vibrantly alive,
and abundantly full of peace.
You want a fountain.
Not your neighbor’s.
This wanting has created a crisis inside of you.
Looking past the plastic pink flamingos on your neighbor’s front lawn,
you ring his doorbell,
while ignoring the static of broken shutters and peeling paint.
The beauty of his fountain beacons.
You ask, “How did you build your fountain?”
He replies, “It was a long process…certain I can’t even tell you how. What I can tell you is where I got some parts…and refer you to books and videos I read and watched when I started. I’m still adding….sometimes, subtracting….mostly by feel. There’s no other fountain like mine. Never will be. C’mon…Want to take a closer look? Then you can decide if you have the where-with-all to build your own.”
“Oh….I’ve got the where-with-all. Let’s go.”
Grateful to all readers who have shared their fountains.
Mine is coming along, with dancing drops and tinkling murmurs.
I’ll keep building, knowing that even if I eat the same meal as you, my fountain will be unique.
Ring my doorbell any time.
Can you hear the music,
see the sunrise,
smell the baking apple pie,
feel the downy softness of a pup’s fur,
and taste the sweet and savory of butter pecan ice cream,
hiding beneath bluster?
The sun often hides behind clouds, but you know it’s still there.