Did you know that celery looked this beautiful when you chop the stalks off all at once? Well, I know this completely trashes any culinary street cred I thought I was building up, but prior to our becoming the beneficiaries of the Jack Juicer over the holidays, I have never had occasion or inclination to hack into an entire head of celery at once. I suppose I'm also yet again showing my hand when it comes to the way small things can send me into naïf-like joy, as in "honey, look at this celery, it's so pretty, I HAVE to take a picture, I mean don't you think this is amazing?"
(Blech. My zen, soul-searching, deep-heart side and my sarcastic tendencies often just don't know what to do with each other. What can I say, I'm a Gemini - that whole simultaneous cynicism & optimism lusciousness is part of the package.)
Right now I want to focus on my initial reaction, though. This unassuming stump of celery remains sort of got me thinking about how such a visually appealing, tightly-spiraled network of support hides under those long stalks. Perhaps this is because I've been so damned introspective as of late, but I felt like that ridiculous green lump of crisp-watery petals actually was looking at me, telling me the urge I have had brewing inside is perfectly on track.
You may be in a place where you can't even recognize your insides anymore. If someone asked you to describe them, you wouldn't be able to conjure the image clearly in your own head, much less allow others an opportunity to see how disorganized it feels like they have become. But just because you can't perceive the stunning layers of your soul doesn't mean they aren't there, and if you have to cut down to the core from time to time in order to see beyond what has become a wilted mass of unfulfillment, fear, guilt, wastefulness and anxiety...then CUT. Cut down, revisit, and reacquaint yourself with what you have to support you from the inside, and nourish it.
