Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

The chaos of the tear-down.

October 24, 2016


I'm not sure why we routinely think getting what we want will ever be easy. If it were, I don't think we'd have that annoying spinster sing-song voice in our heads chanting "be careful what you wish for." (Side note: 'spinster' is probably a politically incorrect word these days, but I read a lot of Agatha Christie and, unrelatedly, I fancy myself a spinster-in-training, so I think it's okay). 


Anyway. We get so desperate, looking at the limitations of the situation we were just in that we lift the coming change into this utopian ideal, when really, it takes a tear-down to rebuild. Every time. Always. Any shift--emotional, physical, cosmic, geographical--necessitates a pulling up of roots, and roots are messy. They're nestled and warm down there in whatever earth they've found.


Even if it's woefully deficient. 


Roots need time to reestablish themselves, and they can't do that in clean, hard-packed, neatly swept earth. No way--you have to dig down, baby, dig up that rich soil and *get in* there. Squeeze the earth with you toes; get messy. Find joy and mad creativity in the possibility of good, dark, nutrient-dense earth. It's what you came for. 


Still take issue with the mess? I hear you--me too. But I find it soothing to look at one tiny corner of the chaos. I don't understand math, but I do love fractals--everything has a pattern. But to find that pattern, you have to zero in. Follow it, and you find the order; you sort the chaos. That, to me, is pure artistry, pure alchemy. 


Pure harmony.







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This Quiet Earth