little_lady_d

 

We are made of earth, small seeds, dreams of photosynthesis, curled inside brown husks, made to crack painfully from our shells, to push heavy soil aside, to move, stubborn and fragile toward our destinies, into sun and rain. To break and grow green, break and flower, to be trees of life, and fall broken onto the ground becoming rich humus full green unbroken dreams. Everything that is, we turn into ourselves and give back as soil. Give back as oxygen. What we breathe is each other. Nothing that lives is alone.

 

We are made of water: salty rivers run in our veins, lymph ebbs and swells, saliva and tears leak into the air and dry. We are always changing: wide seas into clouds, rain into puddles, rivers into muddy fields that run along ditches into the sea. We flow, freeze, boil, rise, disperse, are hurled this way and that. We declare that we are the blue edge of glaciers, the great ocean swell, stagnant teeming ponds, months long tropical downpours, the delicate tracery of frost on a dry leaf, rusty drip of a faucet. We are the shape of what's happened to us. We are caught up in doing, and whirl through our lives, suffering, joyful, filled with doubt. And yet we return to ourselves again and again, to the Self that is all there is. We are made of water, called to find our true level by that great force of love we call gravity. We are made to trust our destination. We are not lost.