I find myself sometimes in the garden, on bended knee, like time spent before God, in times past, to service prayer and contemplation.
My toil in the dirt, in something like a self-imposed penitence; As if it could really be believed, this, a disciplinary labor? No- Not labor, at least not without fruits, which then is not discipline at all, in the sense of justice, but more akin to labor that is work for pay.
What payment I receive for my efforts, well that's as much between He and I as anything else, I guess. About two weeks past budding, the colors begin to bloom. Vibrant and impressive, in both color and form, striking one to awe.
I wonder sometimes, while watching the smaller animals which are more brazen and scurry about, what great difference there is in life, in consciousness, being, between us and them. It's easy enough to see, well, you know, here is an animal, here is what it is capable of, endowed by it's biology, this is the way it acts, which is pretty much just what you'd probably expect in most situations.
But here, probing the soil, I wonder what He must have done when first bringing forth such things. The thoughts although similar take on a whole new feel. What worth is a plant? What loss is there when it is gone? A plant is quite clearly alive, and so what more harm is it to be omnivore or herbivore- You take a life, either way.
These things I consider while working the soil, struggling with the separate thought that there is no 'just right' here at the ground level, there is only 'Good enough' or 'Seems OK'. It isn't so much a matter of fulfilling predetermined criteria as it is devotion of time and compassion.
And I try, I do. And I think again, for a moment. When each blossom opens to expose the intimate delicacy of it's most alluring regions, might they, like hatchlings, have impressed me as their own lifegiver? I tend to them with diligence, and while they all equally impress me, and I delight in their elegance, each and every one, two things, neither knees, anchor my daydreams to the ground:
First, that I have misjudged their intent, and second, that as I pride myself on each and every one, they each ideally desire my sole attention, the full extent of the resources I might provide, and all of the time I can spare to offer as labor.
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Posted: Jul 2010
About this poem:Late night ramble?