Monday, August 17, 2009

My Adventures with Datura, Part 3

I innocently walk through the garden, surveying the wild and cultured plants in their various states of pregnancy. The moonflower-datura has become majestic in stature. Her large white trumpets, fragrant as any rose, attract the bees to rub and drink. Those blooms last only one day before falling limp from the effort, moving inward to seed.

By removing her withered flowers before they seed, I can urge on further tries with further blooms. I decide to deadhead. I smell her sweetness as I gently, lovingly pluck away dying flowers and leaves. Some of her juice moistens my skin.

Then I notice a tingling in my hands, a nervous activation. There’s an expanding feeling, feeling my aura as well as my flesh and bones. The sensation creeps up my arms, slowly, minute by minute. Everything begins to look brighter, glowing with her moonlight even though it’s daytime, while flowing along in a mild dream of plant magic.

Yes Datura, you got under my skin and into my consciousness. Now I handle you with gloves unless I want a mild touch of lunacy for awhile. Thank you for your ever present possibilities.

--Terra Rafael

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