There is a sense of dying day by day. Yet from this decay, from this pain, bursts forth rebirth. A renewal, a revival of existence. My body emerged from the womb 22 years ago, but my spirit is awakening today and tomorrow, moment by moment, gradually easing the pains of soulful labor.
For the past 22 years, the growing season was busy and ambitious. Well under way. Roots explored the depths of the soil, clinging to the dirt molecules and increasing in thickness. Vitality once vibrated in their expansion, as they waited in deceptive stability. The roots were really waiting for disappointment and destruction. The soil, at the beginning saturated with nutrients and promise, had unexpectedly been sucked dry. It was time to uproot the plants, not for reaping, but out of rejection.
Rejection was the first step toward death. As the Farmer snatched and thrust the roots out of the earth, every fiber of the dirt shuddered with confusion and betrayal. The Farmer murmured to His two companions, “These wild weeds are stubborn, twisted deep. Prideful and hungry. They were poisoning the soil, and were destined to fail. We must rip these away, not a trace left, and plant with our seed. The soil needs to heal.”
The investment, the hopes, the progress, all were ripped away. Doubt trickled into the lonely earth, yearning for the plants of old. Did they really have to leave? There was a midnight of pouring rain. When the sun dawned upon the soaked soil, its light revealed the scars and inadequacy. The soil had chosen the wrong plant to grow, and the roots had choked any good seeds, any potential nearly to death.
The Farmer was right. The soil needed new life. A new Seed was to come.