Flowing

Constellations in relief, black as night spinning and expanding in the void.
No clear edges on the individual, no clear boundaries on the bunch.
A universe creating itself beneath the sink.

I did not find the mold first. The water streaming down the kitchen floorboards was the countdown to exploring the space. I say ran down because the old house is slouching into the earth and in our lives carrots and cherry tomatoes and water runs east across the old growth grain. East towards the sloping garden, foraging turkeys, towards stretching trees and looming sunrise. The water seeped into the crack between the kitchen and porch taking an alternate route into the bowels of the house. This on a day when fall pranced into the room and shook its soaked body like a golden retriever returning from a glacial lake.

I am still in my pajamas as I tear the linoleum off the cupboard sole and twist open freeways of pipes warm and dripping. Bits of bloated food and indecipherable sludge coat the interior landscape. How much is hidden inside smooth white! How many indigestible, un-washable layers are represented here? I take each piece and soak it in vinegar (pipe pickles!) and scrub with an old toothbrush. I watch gunky enamel fall into the bowl.

I am disgusted and relieved. It feels good to clean this out.

Inside almost matches outside but the problem is not solved.

The water still tumbles over grain.

The problem is deeper. Underground.

I run a metal snake through the exposed arteries of the house and do not find a blockage. I find pig grease and human hair and an amalgamation of meals long forgotten but the snake’s mouth is hungry after a few grotesque pulls. A twist in a pipe, detritus accumulation, blockage I cannot reach.

I think about all that is flowing inside me. I think about the universe of love and dreams streaming through my life, mostly unobstructed. I think about the bends where half-digested ideas accumulate and block the passage out of all that is no longer needed. 

I am scrubbing, snaking, clearing. I am having trouble reaching the basement. This goes deep. 

How do I restore the flow without tearing the house down? 

Go outside.

My pajamas are soaked with grimy water. I go visit the turkeys in a dress over wet pants and wellies. I give the goats apples and collect eggs from the hens. I pluck cherry tomatoes from the matted green arms of the garden. Blackberries, plums, pears, apples fall onto the ground where I cannot catch my fill. Beets grow next to carrots and parsnips and turnips. Winter squash begs for space underneath popcorn eight feet to the sky. The flow of life and food is all around. Outside and in.

We will nurture the house back to life, heart in fiery coals, friends’ laughter beating strong, the stove's belly warm with plenty. The blockage is not permanent; it loosens with care and community

(and perhaps the healing of a plumber navigating the constellations and freeways and dark underground universe of the basement).

These pipes flow. The land absorbs. We all thrive.