​In a land half way between here and downtown, there was a store that sold sexy lingerie.  From the floor to the ceiling hung burlesque costumes and sequined bras, white booty shorts with pink ruffles, red bustiers and blue lace up corsets.  Black leather mini skirts, rainbow colored thongs, whips of every size and gold masks with long purple feathers. See-through bras and peek-a-boo bras.  Push up bras that hooked in the front, stringy bras with confusing ties in the back.  Lace and silk fell to the floor or to the knee or to the butt.  And fringe fell all over.  One young woman ran her fingers up and down every garment.
            She let the heavy red velvet drape fall behind her and undressed. Wiggling her hips side to side, she tried on pink cheeky underwear.  She pulled the glittery lace camisole overhead but it got stuck right around her breasts.  She wiggled and waggled.  She yanked down the right side.   One boob was in, one boob was out.  Now, just one more.  And there, the other boob was in.
            In the mirror’s reflection, she saw her big belly.  She turned to the side and cottage cheese cellulite bubbled along her thighs.  Butt bulge and back rolls.  Oh, there was that feeling again. 
            She wiggled and waggled out of the delicate lace.  She ran out of the store and straight into her car.  Tears came so strong that her body shook.  But within that shake, she remembered.  Every single bulge had its trials, every roll its initiation, every cottage cheese dimple its ordeal and they all made her who she was.  One bit less of cellulite and she wouldn’t have recognized her soul’s true journey.  And in that moment, the dressing room story of the cellulite shattered and a new story was born: cellulite dressed in the sexiest lingerie ever seen. 

​There once was a girl who couldn’t stop loving.  When it rained, she loved the sound of swooshing water through gutters.  When land shook, she loved the pause after the jolt, waiting for some bigger quake.  When foggy, she loved not knowing what was ahead.  When dark, she loved how the stars appeared brighter.  When cold, she loved her red quilt.  When she met him, she loved his smile.  When he leaned in, she loved his butterfly kisses.  When he held her, she loved his strong heart home.  When he said good-bye, she loved how he wiped away her tears. When he wasn’t there, she loved the empty space where he used to be.  When he married, she loved his wife.  When sunset came, she loved it slipping down until the sea swallowed all.
 

In a land not too far from here, there was a girl who felt alone.  The loneliness was excruciating and she predicted that she wouldn’t last much longer.  She remembered the love of her life telling her that you could feel alone even when you were with someone. But she could not believe that.  All the couples at the beach were holding hands.  Surely that touch must be nice.  Surely that touch meant you weren’t alone.

Once the love of her life took her to tropical waters. He crouched underwater and signaled to place her feet on his shoulders. He’d propel her upwards and she was to dive gracefully into the water.  She thought she was not cut out for that move.  It was a move only pretty girls performed, perhaps cheerleaders, but not her. When she mounted his shoulders, she was afraid.  She felt his body rising up from the waters beneath her.  It was time to jump, but she hesitated and slipped off, kicking him in the face.

She wondered if the whole time she felt unworthy of his lifting her heavenward. Maybe that’s why it had all unraveled. 
​
She closed her eyes and felt the tree trunk behind her.  The bark burrowed in the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders.  Its leaves rustled at her weeping.  Its roots bubbled up from the earth to hold her, the strength of its trunk like an old friend.
 
What a blessing these listeners are.  Miraculous gifts from God, these trees of ancient knowing.