My letter to the Great Pumpkin
Dear Great Pumpkin,
It's me again, at that time of year when I find myself reflecting on the previous year's activities, intentions, musings, and pranks. This has been a transitive year for me, as I have pulled myself out of lying fallow in the pumpkin patch and started to carve the face I wish to wear once more. I do not regret that nurturing time of mist and mutual dependence on the vine and earth, but it's past time to sit on the edge of porches and leer out at the passers by.
There is a huge independence of being carved into a jack-o-lantern. Like snowflakes, no two are ever precisely alike. Even if a laser burns out your features to specs set only by your creator, your base pumpkin-hood is unique and special. There are no assembly lines for life that can make you like everyone else, not deep in your seeds, your shape, your veins, and in that slimy gunk going on in your head.
This year I vow to chronicle your ways more, to sing about you more, to write the music of your haunting, wicked dance and perform it more to frighten and delight the children. Your mischievous tunes tickle at my ears and make my fingers twitch, and so I know what you wish me to do. I always know the path you set for me, when my heart is open and my mind is filled with glee.
I accept I have failed you and your spirit in the last year, and the penances you have laid upon both me and my pride I will pay without objection. There are lessons I am taking to heart both in being true to myself and to be a better herald for your greatness. I know not what it is or will be, but in the names of you and all the other faces you wear throughout the year; Raven, Coyote, Salmon, Otter; I will teach a lesson for each reflection I see of you when I look in the mirror. My trickster spirit, my beloved, my best friend. Forgive me. I will do better.
It's me again, at that time of year when I find myself reflecting on the previous year's activities, intentions, musings, and pranks. This has been a transitive year for me, as I have pulled myself out of lying fallow in the pumpkin patch and started to carve the face I wish to wear once more. I do not regret that nurturing time of mist and mutual dependence on the vine and earth, but it's past time to sit on the edge of porches and leer out at the passers by.
There is a huge independence of being carved into a jack-o-lantern. Like snowflakes, no two are ever precisely alike. Even if a laser burns out your features to specs set only by your creator, your base pumpkin-hood is unique and special. There are no assembly lines for life that can make you like everyone else, not deep in your seeds, your shape, your veins, and in that slimy gunk going on in your head.
This year I vow to chronicle your ways more, to sing about you more, to write the music of your haunting, wicked dance and perform it more to frighten and delight the children. Your mischievous tunes tickle at my ears and make my fingers twitch, and so I know what you wish me to do. I always know the path you set for me, when my heart is open and my mind is filled with glee.
I accept I have failed you and your spirit in the last year, and the penances you have laid upon both me and my pride I will pay without objection. There are lessons I am taking to heart both in being true to myself and to be a better herald for your greatness. I know not what it is or will be, but in the names of you and all the other faces you wear throughout the year; Raven, Coyote, Salmon, Otter; I will teach a lesson for each reflection I see of you when I look in the mirror. My trickster spirit, my beloved, my best friend. Forgive me. I will do better.