In the depths of the soil
A seed once was placed.
Through time and life's movement
Its growth is now traced.
In a moment a sprout
Is seen on the outside
The next, its stem lengthens
In the world, its place has arrived.
Before long, a few leaves and a bud will take form
It will be nothing but something
To those around,
Throughout the world.
When the moment is right,
Its petal colors will peek through
They will blossom gently
Catch the eyes of me and you.
It will add an ounce of color and zest
To the places we experience each day.
It will be here for a moment
Then it will depart,
On its way.
To the outside, the exterior.
The world above the grass.
This is the process that is visible.
That our eyes can catch.
In the depths of that soil.
Is where the story began.
Do you ever wonder about the chapters
That are not visible to the eye?
It all started there
In the world below the space where our feet and the Earth collide.
Do we deem the bud’s growth
As a mystery?
Pure luck?
Or is there an understanding of the stages?
The work
The process it bears
To get from that seed
To the external beauty that, in the world, it shares?
So much is seen
Yet so much is not.
Below what is visible,
The brunt of that process took off.
Have you ever thought about what would happen
If that seed could not sprout?
If it could not make its appearance
In this world, throughout?
If it was blocked by a barrier
If it had no space to be
If it was not accepted by the world
By you or by me?
What would happen then?
How next would it mold?
Would it cease to exist?
Or would it, below the surface, grow old?
As I ponder this possibility
In my heart, it seems sad.
We would lack a world of color
That great beauty, we would not have.
Similar to that seed
Which made its way to the ground
Each of us began somewhere
Inside, our stories can be found.
We all are made different.
In our own unique way.
What brews on the inside
We strive to navigate how to share.
How to delve into our passions
Throughout this world that we bear.
How to express ourselves externally.
How to be the person that we are.
Have you ever had an inkling that rests on your heart?
A force from within
A recurring desire that you hold?
A reckoning for your purpose
That burns a fire in your heart?
An attachment.
A cling.
To a concept that you see.
A persistent vision
Of the you that you are meant to be?
Did you allow it space
To externally take mold?
Or did you stop it with a barricade?
Decide to instead, hold?
If that is what happened
What happens then?
If we do not have the space
To project those forces from within?
Like that flower that grew
That went through the process of life
If it was not granted space
In the world to take sight.
We would have a stark loss of beauty
Of added life zest
A loss of ability
To explore its value amongst the rest.
If we are blocked
If we hold ourselves back
Perhaps the world will miss out
On the beauty we could add.
