I am a corn husk.

I woke up realizing that.  I’ve been feeling dried up and useless for some time.  Just being, doing, surviving and striving with no reason beyond making it to a new day.

And that just sucks.  I don’t mean the generic suck but the major Le Suck.

In my dream I was making tamales which is an arduous and long ritual with amazing results.  I prepared these rich ingredients: brisket, seasoning, onions and spicy chile paste.  Then “the masa”.  Mix, mix, mix and done.  It was then I found I had forgotten to soak the husk.  It wasn’t prepared to receive the abundance I was preparing for it in order to finish my dish.

I am a corn husk.

The goals, the ideas, the thoughts and even flights of fancy I’ve been organizing within myself cannot begin until I soak my husk.  Until I completely soften the dried up parts of me too brittle to become flexible.  Flexible enough to wrap around all the adventures (and sorrows and living) that my life is moving onwards to.

I could always just steam forward, as is, but the insides would flake apart and lose flavor.  No cohesion.  Not even a huge dousing of the most passionate tasting salsa can salvage a poorly made tamale.  Not for a blob of dry meat cake stick.

I am a corn husk in search of my personal aqua vitae.

That exuberance of spirit and uninhibited freedom of soul.  Not happiness, because that is relative and temporary to situations, but that deeper internal peace and joy.

Apparently, my fountain of youth was fed to everyone but me.  I’d best get digging deeper to find another spring, if I can, before it’s too late.