Abundance

some seeds
are born to die
in a world
born too soon
for their opening;
so they close
and crumble,
to feed other seeds
the breath of a world
they will never get to see.

The Seed

I once held
a little seed tight
in my line-crossed palm,
waiting for the perfect time,
the perfect place
to set him free;

I watched the seasons
being born and die,
I watched the sun beat down
upon the burning earth,
I watched the flickering lights
upon a blackened sky,
I watched the storms
rage on and swivel by,
and held on tightly
to the tiny seed -
he couldn't go,
just yet, I thought;

until I saw a bird
drop a seed
while he whistled by -
where the sun and the stars,
the dark and the storms,
and the warm earth
where she tumbled
and giggled,
and cried and rested,
played with her,
shaped her,
and opened her,
so she could share
her gifts with them
and the world;

and I dropped
my little seed
quietly to the ground,
to set him free,
as I set myself free
from a tethered world.

Rite of Passage

you ask me
to carry you
to the pyre,
to burn
bury
or leave you
unspurned,
to be devoured
by the elements
that design
both life
and death.

but how do I
perform
the last rites
of a seed,
which
in its falling
to its deathbed,
explodes into life?

when a hush
between seasons
is breached by
a noiseless seed-burst,
holding within
its failed shell,
forests and deserts of yore,
cracked dust still warm
upon a moistened shore,
springs and winters
yet unborn,
and all of life's
stardust confetti?

and so when you ask,
I stand frozen
upon my trembling feet,
eyes welling up
in disbelief,
for I know
all I can do
is hold this
unfathomable space,
where you and I
are but motifs
on a shimmering shroud,
walking together
in every step
of this rite of passage.

Parenting

There are as many ways to raise children as there are parents.
There are as many ways to raise parents as there are children.

I felt a lot of sadness when I read this article (look below) that was shared on FB, about raising a generation of helpless kids....sadness because I feel we are not looking at the whole picture, and are swinging to an extreme....I feel we are somewhere not looking deep enough at ourselves and our children.

There are always two sides to any story and I wonder if we are only seeing one side, and therefore getting paranoid and showing a knee-jerk reaction to what we see as huge problems in kids today....
I for one believe that our children raise us, and that it is only our preparation that is important.....we are the soil that needs to be prepared and aired and tilled until it is 'ready' for the seed to use as its nourishment to grow...the seed holds everything that it needs for this lifetime within itself....it does not need any preparation...it waits patiently until the soil is ready, and then there is just no stopping it. But instead of preparing the soil, which is ourselves, we are so hell bent on preparing the seed, and finding fault with it, thereby even destroying it in the process.

The seed is not helpless. It is we who are helpless, because we are simply not listening to what it is asking us to do, and trying to find quick-fix solutions rather than digging deep.

There are more and more children today with marked sensitivities and other needs, who simply seem to be telling us to wake up, open our eyes wide and look at what and where we need to change. They are showing us in so many ways to wake up to our fears and face them head on. They are screaming out loud and clear that our old ways of thinking and being no longer hold stead. But are we going to stop and listen?

The answer I guess lies in whether we want to see it as them raising us, or us raising them.

When a child wants you to sort out a conflict he is having with a friend, can we try and trust him and just be there for him? He wouldn't call you unless he needs you would he? Have we ever bothered to wait long enough to see when he is ready to handle this on his own?

If he refuses to climb monkey bars or cycle without training wheels, can we just give him the space to be until he is ready?

Can we tell them every day how special they are to us, and enjoy the simple act of loving each other, instead of getting all anxious about how they are going to use their specialness to their advantage later on?

Can we respect the tiny plants that they are now and give them the space and freedom to enjoy being plants, instead of looking at them as 25 year old trees in the making?

What are the feelings that bubble up inside you when you read this article? What are the fears that get stirred up? Perhaps it would help all of us to sit with that.....

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/Mickey-goodman/are-we-raising-a-generati_b_1249706.html 

Seed Burst

I feel
a gentle stirring,
a pushing
from within,
to break open
eroded walls
now ready
to give,
as the
hardened earth
readies itself
and crumbles
to a seed burst,
parting ways
to feed life
and death;
new fronds
new branches
new roots
explode
from an
unlit womb,
only to watch
sunbeams
return
to rustle
the quiet breath
of another tree
encased inside
a restful earth.

The Tree of Love

when a seed is born,
it holds within it,
seeds of countless trees -
infinite possibilities
of life's deep longing
to fulfill itself;
watered with love
that shows no favour,
tended with a quiet faith
in love and life itself,
every seed grows
into a tree of love,
breaking free from shackles
of space and time,
into the infinite cosmos
that holds all with love.
A tree that never dies.
A tree that is always being born.
The tree of love
is where life began,
and love won.

The Pomegranate Seed

I pause
to savour
the sweet-tart juice
of every pearl -
transient,
wrapped carefully,
around every tiny seed -
Life's lessons for me.
Infinite outcomes.
Bitter and sweet.

The Seed

a tiny seed
holds within
its frail existence -
infinite seeds
of life and love;
countless copies
of unfaltering faith,
thriving on a passion
to live and let live,
making friends
with the earth and the wind,
the fire and the water,
the human and the non-human;
reaching out relentlessly
to the distant sun -
no worries of death,
or fears of infertility,
just a never-ending quest
to love and be.

Pods on an Old Tree

ripe, brown pods
hang heavy
from an old tree,
that watches them
with silent intent;
each an expression
of what is -
laden with emotions,
each pod is a reminder
that holds within,
a tiny seed
of endless possibilities;
holding each with love,
as it splits wide open
to release the seed -
that is the only way
the tree knows
to unlock its Self
and find its Bliss.