Foundation of Life

The clear water runs into the bathtub and begins to surround me. I turn the handle to the left and it runs a bit hotter. I could drink this water that so easily flows from the tap, but I don’t. I look up at the ceiling, the paint beginning to peel, the humid air pulling it away from its surface. We have been in this home ten years and my husband says this is when it begins to happen - the paint peeling in places, hairline cracks in doors, caulk pulling away from tile. I consider the work needed to remedy each of these and instead of forming a plan of attack, I close my eyes, allowing myself instead to be held in the generosity of this water, not asking for anything in return.

The temperatures are warming now, April showing herself. The plants that slept all winter in our small pond are coming back to life through no effort on our part. The grass greens as the days become longer. I walk out in the cool morning barefoot and step one foot off the porch and then the other. The grass is cold and wet on my feet and beginning to lose its winter sharpness. Out in the pasture, the multiflora rose is popping up among the grass and I know we will have to address it. ‘Invasive’ is a word used to describe it. Something not in its proper place and needing to be addressed. I wonder how I fit in with all of this. I am no more natural to this place than this prickly plant that found its way into the middle of the cattle field and yet I am accepted. From one place and somehow found my way here. The peonies I planted two years ago are burgeoning once again, their burgundy stalks like asparagus making their way through the soil. The red bud tree in the corner of the woods putting on her show as she does every spring, can’t help herself. The honeysuckle along the fenceline that greets me each morning with her fragrance as I walk down the drive.

These background supports, these foundations that become invisible to the eye. These abundances we so easily lose sight of. The grass that goes from green to yellow and green again, lush and damp in the spring that promises her return each year. The life that is given to us over and over again, so easily accepted without acknowledgement from its recipients. The morning news doesn’t begin, “The sun in her all of her splendor rose again today. The blackbird sang as she made her way into the heavens.” They give so freely, again and again, generously, innately.

As a young girl growing up, as my head hit the pillow before sleep, I would pray. I would ask for the preservation of people, of things, of the life I knew. My prayer these days is the same in that it still is in regards to the foundations of my life and yet, instead of for their preservation, it is for my eyes to be open to them. Help me to be able to see all that holds me, all that keeps me, all that nourishes me. This hot water flowing from the tap, the grass greening into a blanket that envelopes my feet and toes, these flowers that return each year. And if I cannot see it, let me be grateful for all of the forces, the miracles, the unseen atoms that whirl around me and this world and make this life possible. Grant the possibility that while I am supported, I may be that for another. Make these hands a vessel so that while I am here, I may be of use. Let the love and nourishment that feeds me flow through me to another. Let me take part. Make my life part of the foundation for all that surrounds me. Have my life be a blessing.

Let it be so.
And so it is.

I love you.

Blessings

Seja