I remember that day.
We have all had days like that day.
I had been making my tea, standing at my white tiled kitchen counter, whisking the green tea powder into the hot water—just like I am right now.
That day, he rapped on my open door and stepped over the threshold and waited in my entryway. He was smiling, holding the promised bag of fresh vegetables and still-warm eggs from the ranch. The plastic grocery bag rustled in his hands. “I have something to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago,” he started.
I set down the bamboo whisk and watched green, colloidal liquid pool around the thin, blonde, curved, wooden tines. I lifted my gaze. Looking at him, I remembered how we used to be.
“You probably already know.” He glanced down at the bag hanging from his hands. His eyes switched tracks.
“Oh first, I brought you some fresh goodies.” He let go of one plastic loop and allowed the bag fall open. He gazed into the sack’s interior. He reached in and pulled out a speckled brown egg. He held the perfect, smooth thing between his index finger and thumb. “I plucked this one out of the hay nest just an hour ago,” he smiled. I smiled back.
“Well, I’ll just put this in your fridge.” Quick strides brought him past my weathered farm table and into my kitchen. He knew the way. He opened the long slender white door and wedged the bag between the loaded glass shelves, in the cheery, lighted interior of my refrigerator.
I watched him, still standing with my tea, a puddle in a clay bowl, the whip still sitting in a green pool on the counter. My eyes took in the whole of him, but I resisted stepping closer. He was an arms-length away. He turned to face me. His warm, golden eyes held mine. His strong hands gently pushed the door closed. The light extinguished. The magnetic seal took, with the barest click.
“Okay, bring it on. I’m listening.” A sigh of surrender escaped my lips.
As I stand here this day, in this same place in my kitchen, whipping up, yet another frothy green drink, I’m thinking: We usually DO know, don’t we? I knew. I knew long before that day. And, I had already acted on what the deep part of me sensed, and what my mind could only imagine. Maybe I hadn’t known anything really, but I had known enough.
Things I would come to know later: All is just how it was supposed to be, and life is unfolding perfectly. Then: The truth settles in, a little at a time, as we’re ready, kind of like parched earth, taking in a flood of cold, torrential rain water.
That day, I stood with another human on The Path, just like me: flawed; deeply good; AND living with all his heart. So, I listened. And, I groped. Then, I was angry for a while. Finally, I accepted.
This day, I’m just grateful. Truly. And, surprisingly content. As I sip my delicious, warm, energy-imparting drink, I run my fingers along the smooth mug. With its French-y-ness, its black and white, bird and flower-inspired swirls, I imagine: May each of us follow that place inside ourselves that knows. That acts. Then, loves still.
Because love is the only response left, that makes any sense.
You have come to Love and Lettuce, after all, so I grasp my cup around its middle and raise it up. A toast beauties: “To love, in all its many forms.”