Don’t deny your past; it’s where you grew from, it’s where your roots are still planted.
It seems to me as though, for the first part of our human existence, we are in the soil of our lives planted like a seed. We are in the dark, in the drought, the floods, the heat, and the cold, largely unaware.
We struggle to reach the light, to emerge from the darkness. We exert ourselves to get to the weightlessness of no dirt, no mud, and no pressure around us or upon us. We endure the elements as we desperately try to make it through to the surface, to break free.
Once we are through, we are in awe of the grandness of all the space and possibilities.
We are shocked and ecstatic. We rejoice. We dream. We plan for a bright, struggle-less, weightless future.
We Are Out Now!
We’ve made it out and we believe everything is going to be better from now on.
It has to be, right?
The pressure is off.
The darkness is gone.
We Are FREE!
Naïve and unprepared for what’s next - the twists and storms of life ahead - we are dismayed as we now must encounter the elements in entirely new ways.
We get scorched, drenched, and dried again.
The winds of life blow so hard we can barely hold on. And just as we are faced with having to let go, as we stare the end squarely in its face, ready to release the grasp, reprieve arrives in the last possible moment.
In disbelief, numb and tired, we notice we are safe. Somehow, all is well again. And, again, we get to bask in the comfort of uneventful sunny days, graced with warm breeze and joy and ease and calm.
We look ahead to the horizon with hope and dreams and plans.
Then, without warning, the wind picks up; it’s unrelenting and fierce! Again, we must hold on.
We must keep our young, vulnerable roots in the soil because if we don’t, we know they will let go and, exposed, they will wither away; we will die!
So, we twist in the wind, resisting it so that we remain planted and bending to it just enough so it doesn’t break us, so we don’t snap. It would be such a shame after all the struggle, trying so desperately to survive in the dark to get above the ground.
Suddenly, drought comes again. Only now, we are more exposed to it. We’re not hidden as before, no shade yet either. We are still weak and vulnerable to the elements, and to the twists and storms of life.
Sometimes a cloud is a blessing, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes the rain is welcomed, sometimes we almost drown.
Those who are lucky enough to make it, strong enough to take it, those who had it the hardest coming through to the surface might just be resilient enough, prepared, willing, and desperate enough to survive it all; they will grow into a giant and majestic tree.
And because of enduring all those elements, and because they learned to resist and surrender in the right measure, they will remain flexible and not be broken.
And they will keep growing and expanding those roots and branches far beyond the shallow.
About the Author
In early Spring of 2011, as I sat with my journal at a family cabin, I felt the seed of my creative writing come through from beneath the surface. As I picked up my pen to begin my first journal entry, I felt a feeling of profound peace and indescribable comfort. All was well. I felt I was Home - finally!