to the seed, you are my joy

It was the same time that everything else got its start. In the fresh new face of dawn shinning on all the ripe fruit hanging from heavy-laden limbs in the Garden. I was fruit then, I was seed sown by the sower in rich soil. I was turned over by the blade as he drove his plow across the many acres planting me and my brothers and sisters in rows along the river. He came and gave us sun, he gave us wind when we grew our limbs and our leaves danced in anticipation as his hands reached for something real.


I was beyond excited the first time the Beginning reached for me. I was new then, I was before new, I was inside and new was all around me. I looked out everywhere and everything I saw was open wonder under bright stars. No shadow to dim the shine, no recess in my mind. I was standing in my row like every other brother and sister in their row. I was growing and laughing and playing because that is what he made me to do. A wave of light rolled across the field as I watched the workers bend low and bow in one perfect movement of grace. I stood upright, my roots where getting strong. I watched the wind hand glide through the wheat grass. I could watch the Farmers hand move through the wheat tracing every soft shade of brown for eternity and all eternities to come. His fingers, dark from long days in the sun, his sleeves rolled up to elbows exposing strong arms made so by days and nights behind the plow. He walked slowly through his rows and took great care to lift each low limb or new budding flower. He collected fallen petals from the ground placing them in a satchel on his hip. He sometimes bent low to whisper to a young seed something hidden from observation, something so new it had not yet been written.


A seed when spoken too breaks into a wild dance. It rumbles under the soil and bursts into life. The outer husk is shed and the soft new roots rush to waters edge. Everything is forward. Life is up, down, inside, out, life is stretching and straightening and finally being. Pushing to the surface, to another surface, to the sun and to another sun. Life is radiating and pulsating, gyrating, always dancing, always the rhythm of the seed song promise, sung by the Farmer each day he drove the blade and sowed the seeds and moved through the rows with grace and precision.


It was his hands. I could not look way. Soft, moving like lovers hands running through each other’s hair. Something pulled me in. Some romance I always knew but could not form. I found it in my roots. It was always my song. I started to dance and for the first time heard the Farmer laugh. I danced more, I threw everything I had into the wind and he said, “you are free little seed, now all the fields will dance.” I looked as far as I could see and everywhere my brothers and sisters danced and the Farmer danced and we all sang our songs to the wind and they were all the same and they were all different and they were all Him.


Calm, I came to the water. I knew the water my whole life in the ground. I knew how it felt as it approached. My roots knew of nothing else. They went deep into the well. It never seemed a choice, it was life and life the only way it could be but now I was moving across the surface of the song. I was lifted from what I was into what I was to become. I felt new sand under my limbs. I saw water in the light, in the sound. I drank the water with my mouth. I had a new word in me. I had a new song. It was in my mouth and I looked around for the Farmer and he was afar off in his fields, in his song. I dipped my limbs into the water and watched ripples roll across the river. I heard soft laughter and a deep sigh. “You have come to life,” said the River, “you have come to where you have always been, you have become into the deep where water calls to water drawing you to me.” “But I never knew thirst,” I said to River, “I only knew relief.” “You are curious,” said River, “you are my joy.” He turned to look across the field of so many songs and he said, “all of you, all of you come to River.”


One by one brothers and sisters came to drink at River. One by one we laughed and saw the new in each other. Some were weak and the Farmer brought them on his shoulders. He tossed the gathered petals in the River creating a true symphony of color. He placed each tired brother and sister in the colors and one by one planted them along the shore and said, “you are my healers, you will spread your limbs here by River and your leaves will be healing for all who come to drink.” Others he thrust into River and they became his Warriors. A few he breathed on and lifted up a mound of dirt in his hands and placed them there and said, “you are my secret poets, you will know the world the way my hands move through the grain, the way lovers run their fingers through each others hair and you will be pierced by beauty and find your hope even in the darkest place.” Then Farmer wept over them so they would remember the taste of his tears and be filled with desire never to be realized this side of River.


I stood and some familiar sisters and brothers gathered around me. We smiled at one another and saw the Farmer in our smiles. Eventually Farmer came over singing and playing a song, he sang, “you will be the cover of my most loved ones. You will know my secrets and my heart. You are welcome to come in and go out of the fields of my deepest longing and to glory in my love for all your brothers and sisters.” He cupped his hands and whispered into them, then blew the whispers over us. Each of us fell one by one on the shore, some were laughing, some weeping, some still, in contemplation. It was joy he gave us. It was joy of the deep earth, of the long silence, of the water before when it was void and the Spirit moved upon it.


The day passed and through the night he sat with us. We watched the stars take their turns and dance across the veil. Farmer said, “the world is thin, now you are deep. Do not lose sight of the way home, I have written it upon your hearts tonight. I have placed you in mine. We cannot be separated but I send you to dawn upon a troubled earth. What you knew here is not known everywhere. But that is your song, to know and to be known. Take it,” he shouted! “Take it,” he sang and laughed and we all rose with the sun and said, “we will! We will take to the thin and tired Earth and we will be your joy like stars moving across the veil, like lovers running their fingers through each other’s hair.”


Farmer stepped back and looked at all of us. Many we did not name here and many who are too new to be named. He slowly backed into the field gathering his tools and his satchel as he prepared himself for another’s day’s work. We turned into the tired world. One sister sang the river song and we all joined in. We took the song to the thin and tired world and the name of the song was Come Away to Quiet Place and Rest and the name of the sister was Hope.


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