Following always in the resilient footsteps of mother earth

When I was twelve my mother told me she had an epiphany one day while looking at a photo of Mother Theresa. She explained her experience as a sudden ecstasy of happiness which lasted long into the day. She realized that she could be happy suddenly, without great cause or duty. Just by herself, should could find peace. However Mother Theresa’s wrinkled smiling face impacted this situation, I am not sure, but I have a feeling it is similar to my experience this morning.

I really shouldn’t tiptoe around the matter. I have been having bouts of complete crabbiness as of late. Thankfully the people around me understand that my body is undergoing a complete change, and haven’t judged me for it. But they have told me, “Calm down.” And naturally I have responded with “What do you mean CALM DOWN? I am FINE.” Emphasis on the verbal lies I tell myself and others.

And while I do believe I am fine, I shouldn’t veil myself from acknowledging that lately I have been feeding into some pretty nasty negative black holes within me. I could blame it on those body changes or the environment and of course there are negative people, which absolutely impact my mood and temperament. But I can’t give up all my power for every day when given the choice to take things with grace or lash out, I have chosen at the pain of others to lash.

I walk into the yard which still has bits of crusty mud covering the ground from the hurricane. The flood waters were a concoction of oil, sewage, and ocean. A layer of this rests on parts of the yard we haven’t raked away.

I am looking for a place to plant cucumbers and I find a nice open area that isn’t occupied by a pet grave or a bird bath. Small patches of grass blades are poking out like pencils but it isn’t as full as other areas of the yard. I feel it suffering.

I take my small hand rake, get down my knees and begin to remove the dried up layer of flood crust. It flakes off the land, hanging off my rake. It is light gray and brown, a sort of decaying flesh. The dirt below is dark and rich, I move it with my shovel, freeing it form the suffocation of last October. I can feel the earth below me breathing a sigh of relief. This piece of neglected land is speaking. Thank you

I plant the cucumber sprouts into the newly exposed soil. I pray this land can nurture these small sprouts, though it has been stressed and hidden from the sun for some months. May it find all the reasons in our precious light filled world to celebrate its freedom with the new life it has been given.

For the rain clouds, a song of my own.

It is a rainy day, moist heat sits on my skin and reminds me spring is almost near its end. The windows are open, welcoming in the noise of drops, wind gushed branches, and of course happy birds.

One bird in particular has taken a liking to the open window and has decided to tell me a story about rain clouds. “All clouds are tireless travelers, and are always seeking good company. This group loves to play music but not all do. Other clouds like to simply sight see. The clouds share with us the wind, so we share back a song. If you ever want to share with a rainy day, play some music or sing a song. The clouds will take your song with them on their journey and share you with the all world.”

I can not sing like a bird, but I hum like me, a song of my own. With a few drops of xylophone, I talk to the rain and tell the clouds to pass on my message of peaceful rainy days to all.