Geraldine Connolly

I am part of a system, part of a habitat, both body and spirit. There are answers to so much that I need  to know that lie in the natural world.  Each day on my morning walk, my body takes in bird life, plant life, changes in weather. For me, walking is a form of meditation. The plants I encounter become a real part of me so that when I write, their presence emerges and helps lead to spiritual questions, emotional conundrums. There are messages that pass between us that I record as if in a dream. The energy passing between us is vital.

As a child, roaming the woods and forests of our neighborhood in Pennsylvania provided calm and solace. I carried a buckeye in my pocket for good luck. Between us, there was a mysterious connection. The buckeye tree had a shining fruit with many layers. A green, bumpy bark covered the polished mahogany of shell with its shining eye and below that lay the nutty interior of rich chambers. The buckeye tree was a favorite perch of mine and though the fruits were not edible, they were used for medicinal purposes. For me, the buckeye tree was medicine for the spirit, a place where I could hide, be alone and think. It provided a sanctuary, the way writing poetry would, later in my life.

Having grown up in Pennsylvania among beloved deer and rabbits, sweet acorns, the silvery creek, the many colored coat of autumn leaves, I roamed the landscape with my brother, sister, cousins, neighborhood playmates. We roamed the dusty roads and green fields, the small wooded areas not yet filled with houses, searching for adventure. I felt a oneness with the outdoors.

And now, transplanted to the West, I live in the Sonoran Desert, full of strange, spiky plants, desert snakes and lizards. A completely different landscape fills my days, yet it is equally mesmerizing. Saguaros and agave exist, chollas, ocotillos, brittle bush, yucca and prickly pear. Though I cannot place my hand upon their prickles and thorns as I could upon a tree’s bark, they hold a different kind of message for a different time in my life. I am grateful to be rooted in the old landscapes and the new as well, each offering new perspectives, new questions and new ideas. The cactus and the mesquite tree have answers for me. Hard spiky desert plants survive and even flourish in the scarce rainfall and incessant heat. Mornings here I set out, like an explorer, and feel their presence enter into my body, my spirit, my work, as the plants and trees of my childhood once did.