Even in the very act of contraction,
You long to be expansive.
It feels like
Life is trying to drown you,
Choke you out,
Like life is a formidable opponent,
Like shaking your foundation,
Like breaking you open,
Like holy holy holy.
Step into the meadow.
Listen to the sycamore
Creak in heavy wind,
Breathe.
Think on the bravery of the seed:
It cracks open
Without even knowing
What it will one day be.
You are glorious
Not in spite of exile, rather,
Because of the struggle.
This merciful universe
Keeps delivering opportunities
To dig in the dirt,
To work.
Creation is built of desire.
If you experience longing as discomfort,
Hunger as suffering,
How will you be able to create?
What will you do
With all of this outrageous beauty?
***
Photo: Sycamore by Tim Haynes
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