Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Thin Soil

As I’ve come to understand that life “composts” and “seeds” us as autumn does the earth, I’ve seen how possibility gets planted in us even in the hardest of times. —Parker Palmer

There are times I am just tired soil
Too much has been expected
Too much has been offered

And the richness is gone

Nothing flourishes
Nothing blooms

And yet
It is amazing what the sacred can do
With tired earth

Leaves fall, rains come
Seeds fall from the flowers and the trees
And the earth is renewed

Out of the sloppy mess of fall
And the frozen sleep of winter
Spring comes

New life

There is hope it seems for this tired soul
Always Sacred tries its best
To compost and seed me

Sometimes this soil is disturbed by pain and grief
Sometimes a dash of joy or love
Is worked in

But always possibility is planted
Always, no matter what
I am nurtured in such a way
That out of depletion comes abundance
Out of fear, hope
Out of anger, affection

I just have to be receptive
And willing to be “worked”
Composted, seeded

I may be thin soil
But I am God’ soil

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