We contain it in consciousness;
Remember, so we do not forget,
and get on with our lives
or risk drowning in despair.
Each day pregnant with unknowing,
we risk all by walking out the door;
mingling with the masses
or digging in the soil.
Even there, shards of glass,
old metal and pottery
percolate to the surface,
surprising skin, unprepared.
Planting over and around the damage;
creating beauty is what I know –
Hands taking over
where the head leaves off;
Mind quiets down.
Mulching the surface,
softening soil to contain
life-giving moisture;
inviting breakdown,
the flowering of vitality.
What is this delicate balance,
how can the human spirit hold
a lifetime of soaking up
splendor that bursts the heart open;
joy in creating – then sorrow,
regret; the shame
in what our species is capable.
How do we sleep at night, cradled
in the knowing, the awareness
that we are doing our part;
contributing to the betterment
of a world in the throes of transformation?
Sowing seeds of loving kindness,
I garden.