Pickle Weed, Karma, and Bonding

On a hike last Wednesday with a gaggle of extraordinary women, we were on a mission to find pickle weed. It's said to grow along salt marshes and estuaries. There we were, at Eden Landing, a newly opened loop on the Bay near San Mateo. It's a meandering dirt path through nesting areas of kestrels, egrets, herons, pipers, and teeny tiny feathered friends whose names I can only make up... Herbert, Jasmine, Claudia and Irving. It was a likely terrain in which to find the elusive pickle weed. We saw some imposter plants, but naw... that ain't it was the surmise. I had NO idea what it looked like. Lucky me to be walking with Cheri, when the other four gals were way ahead. We both saw an eagle on a mission over the rabbit-infested bush area, and then, she spotted pickle weed along the path!

Slender green miniature pickle shaped stalks about as big around as a bamboo skewers clumped together like candelabras or mini menorahs. Edible! Salty! No wonder they grow in the salt marsh!

I was better fed by the conversations that are possible as people walk side by side engrossed by and nourished by the beauty of nature. Words come easier, it seems, when there's parallel play and movement involved.

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Once upon a time there lived a cunning and clever woman who made a fortune practicing serial monogamy. She squeezed and pinched her every beloved penny and, more to the point, squeezed many pennies OUT of other people in very mean ways. She deviously manipulated papers and robbed others of their rightful inheritance, ultimately amassing piles and piles of gold and silver and all manner of precious gems, deeds to land, and fancy clothes. She enjoyed flaunting her wealth and the sense of power it gave her. She was surrounded by people who were eager to do her bidding with the hope she might let go a coin or two. Alas, she never shared. She ate, drank, and slept with her wealth.

In later years, she became dependent upon others to help her take care of all her wealth. The woman became too frail to recognize that her fortune, like naked flesh in a cool pond, attracted leeches. Now the ones who were eager to be around her smelled the money and they lingered for the opportunities. Little by little the hungry ones began to circle. Like vultures. Little testing bites. A suck here, a scratch there. Is she aware? They mused. Will she miss this bauble? They wondered. This mink coat? This Monet painting? Oooh! Look at this check book! What I could do with that! 

The children and grandchildren of the wealthy tyrant lived far away. They did not know what was happening until there was a huge tunnel constructed under the house through which all the wealth was draining - carried away by the hungry ones who, like the woman many years before, had also thought, "Oh, they won't miss that. I'm entitled to this. I know how to care for and build this fortune. It's mine now." 

Although the family was sad that the money was draining away, and eventually sought help to staunch the bleed, they couldn't help but feel that Karmic Justice was being doled out by a universe trying to balance itself.

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How lucky I feel to be old enough and "I don't care enough" to be able to meet people as I am. 

How fun to be invited to this "come as you are" party called Life and not worry about my graying hair, with way too many cowlicks, sagging skin,  unfashionable shoes, and super comfortable clothes!

I remember bonding with other little kids whose parents were totally terrifying, but worrying that I was odd one out.

I remember bonding with other teens over the insanity of High School classes and fluctuating hormones, and worrying that I was freakishly different.

I remember college days of color bonding. Black, white, brown, yellow, and red people bonding over Panama Red, Owsley's Purple Haze, Reds, Whites, and Blues. Oh, those Truinol Blues. I was too fucked up to worry about what anyone thought for those six or seven years... except when the pot-induced paranoia freaked me out. 

I remember bonding with other new moms easily because we had a common enemy: sleep deprivation! But the competition of being "super mom" reared its ugly green head. Having kids also brings out all the stuff we need to heal from our own childhoods... so steeping in the muck was not so comfortable and made me want to "put on a happy face." Attempting perfection was my downfall.

I remember trauma bonding with workshop participants where we let our hair and sad stories down, our salt tears mixing into an intoxicating brew. I worried that I alone was suffering from terminal uniqueness.

Now, through luck or hard work or some alchemical mixture of it all, I am high on life without the hangover, without the paranoia, without the double-think, worry link. It's not a "fuck-it" defiant sort of not caring, but rather a Wow! There's so much beauty, let's be quick to savor it all, without all the hoopla around looking or acting a certain way, like a "movie-star-out-of-our-bodies-and-out-of-our-heads" sort of way. Being inside our body and heart makes life so much more fun!

And so, it was easy to bond with Cheri, my walking companion Wednesday, over the simple fact that there were eagles and pickle weed in the world... so close at hand!