Image: Paweł Jońca
If I am the embryo of the seed,
let me call this in which I am planted
my Mother’s womb.
Here I am held.
Here I am nourished.
Here I am the possible human.
My umbilical chord is my root structure –
anchoring me to ancestral knowledge
and into the rich, organic detritus
of eroded lives
and savory fecal matter.
Everything that once was is a resource.
Rain – the joy and grief of the world –
soaks and softens me.
Without it I become hardened, and
have no hope of intimacy with the light.
I must be cracked open to grow.
My limbs are the structures through which
my soul can reach, extending itself,
simultaneously longing to receive
and lamenting the ephemeral nature
of my gifts.
I show up because it’s how I pray.
I unfurl because it’s how I answer prayers.
I grow branches and leaves so that
we have a place to meet.
I can bear flowers and fruit,
delicate, fragrant, and aphrodisiac sweet,
but not without having known relationship.
This is a place of co-creation.
Only the lonely believe in solitary forces
and the adversarial stance of their
own mid-day shadow.
So, you see, these seeds of mySelf
that I place in your hands…
These are my way of saying, “I believe in you.”
I’m asking you to do the next planting.
(c) 2012-2018/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"
Published by Talking Waters Press
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