I arrived home after exhausting another misplaced day. While my mind, in the background, roamed for answers and balance, in the forefront I focused on my mission. Unload my baggage, ahem. Feed the cat. Get to the back door and outside quick. Intending the screen door to slam behind me I stepped out onto the earth, my solace. Portraying a cat, I circled around the yard trying to settle myself into one location. In the middle of the yard to the west of the garden I knelt and prayed more recklessly then carefully.
I placed my hands down on the cool grass. Bringing them back up to my sides and turning my head up, I silently shouted, “What have I missed? Please tell me again. And keep my attention long enough so I don’t forget this time.”
I lowered my hands back down on the grass in front of me. My fingers dug in and broke through the woven roots of chickweed, pennywort and ground ivy. I raked deeper to get to the dirt beneath. I wondered about my garden tools. Are they peering out from their small window in the shed with that raised eyebrow look?
I was driven to reach the energy. Nothing felt more natural than to keep digging. My hands became softer as I became calmer. I scooped a handful of dirt, coaxing the aroma up to capture a hint of its taste. It was an ancient fragrant blend of Myakka sand and salt air.
Rubbing the silky dirt between my hands, I was lost to the moment. Catching myself, I laughed and thought, “Are the answers, the truths I seek, hidden in the earth, in this sandy lot?” I picked up more sand and studied it as I let it cascade down my fingertips. It was fragile and crumbly like gray brown sugar.
The soothing energy of the earth grounded and calmed me. I accepted the inspiration offered as nature’s intelligence graced my spirit.
Kneeling and communing with God is normal. Digging in the dirt at my feet with my bare hands at dusk? What would the neighbors think? I grinned at the treasure I discovered and buried the shame.
