Compost, joy and gumption…..

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My heart hurts.
Bad.
And I don’t want to run from the pain or hide out in false places,
but I’m not going to sink down into the ache and go dull to the salt and sizzle of living,  either,
so I’m hurling clods scraped raw from the clay that I am
like bottle rockets exploding thanks,   setting fire to the night,
because there’s fierce medicine in the kind of joy that won’t sit down
and with perspective comes a healing tide.

And for the record,  I’m not gonna lie that I’m grateful for this heart-rip,
either,  ’cause I’m not.  Nope.  Not one bit.
But I’ll say this true,  from the bottom of my bruises,
that I’m grateful,  yes I am,  for this pile of shit dumped fresh
because I believe in compost
and I won’t waste this.

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So let these punctures dig and poke and pull out plugs of my hard ground
until I’m soft and open and full up with air and sky and yes and fruit
and fresh and ripe and dreams growing thick on the vine.
Go ahead and fertilize me.
I’ll love life more for it.

And so,  dear life,   I’m gonna lean into the grace to square my shoulders,
hold still like a rock star,
and dare to let you love me back,
with a crazy kind of hope that won’t leave the dance floor.
And I won’t busy this pain on down but I’ll taste and listen
and let my lens be dipped in truth until I’m seeing clear
and knowing deep the Love that covers and keeps me here
because when I don’t trust your goodness
I don’t even see the light when it’s burning through my fear.

I’ll surrender everything but this joy.
That’s not ever gonna be on the table.

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“But trading joy for less vulnerability is a deal with the devil.
And the devil never pays up.”
– Brene’ Brown

~

An unlikely symphony…..

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I’ve been unpacking a jar-full of goodness from the year gone by,
scraps of life scribbled down fast
and plunked in grateful
for sweet spots in swirling river time
as she swept along swift and sometimes surly

and I knew there’d be some drifting treasure to unwrap,
some awfully nice bits wedged into the rocks that scraped and pummeled
but I was swept up by the wholly different finished puzzle
of a year gone by
than the one I saw in the sting of hard and tumble.

Like a candid photograph that whispers grace
I see swells of love and aliveness
in moments that met me just exactly where I was willing to watch,
supply showing up in utter need and the simple beauty of working it out,
plenty of stuff springing up goodness in spite of myself;

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 that this turned out yummy and that thing turned balmy
(and who’d have expected?)
how sometimes life’s surprises grow sweeter than they first seem
and delight can grow in odd and unexpected places,
all these bits of broken thanks shaken from my jar
craft together a picture of unshakable love and care,
an unlikely symphony

It feels like buried treasure,  these bits of recycled year
and I’d planned to toss them into the fire
but don’t want to now,
they’re not for burning,  these;
I want to compost them  into the soil of what I believe
and let these stories tell themselves awhile longer,
crooning their songs sweet and low
into my listening hope.

It’s crazy-hope I’m growing;
I can feel it gaining weight:)

 

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“Life is sacred art.”
-Gabrielle Roth

Congratulations to Susie Troccolo
of Life,  Change,  Compost
(where she hangs her beautiful hat)
on winning the drawing for my January issue zine,  Ripplesongs.
Love and cheers to you,  Susie:)