The Sandbox

     When I first arrived on planet Earth my sandbox was pristine, the wide expanse uncluttered with hoo-ha.  My feet plunged into the crystalline oatmeal winding in deep, breathing in the open prairie.  The memory was so distant it merely offered a bit of tantalizing perfume from time to time. Today the sandbox is beneath my feet reminding me of the original state of things and the journey that transpired to bring me full circle.

     A sandbox is a place of exploration and play, a house to contain the vehicle of inspiration and wonder. It is where an unleashed soul will sing.  In the logjam of life, items not mine had been deposited in the dunes of granules.  Other peoples stuff, their emotions, ideas, wants and needs littered the landscape.  Hidden deep under all those items were caverns filled with secrets and pain.  All the bits of this and that stifled my voice to a whisper and drained the power of creation down to a nicely decorated cupcake.

     Now, this is not a sad tale, it is a story of discovery and redemption, though not the kind recited in bible school.  The moments added up between then and today don't signify good or bad, they merely express what transpired and how one cluttered sandbox returned to it's original form.  

    The air is dense       as well as boring

Waiting, the overfull sandbox is steadfast

Ugly bits of this and that are scattered all about

Other people's nonsense is nestled in, fermenting

Over time its original state is almost forgotten

One grain of sand lost in drifts of hoo-ha

A cyclone of Mother's raging hatred

Buckets of should and should nots

Old promises and shackles

Dunes of expectation

Fear of death

Fear of life 

Overwhelming pain cascades

Waves push dunes into cluttered oddities

A staggering amount of stuff uses up all the oxygen

On the fortieth year and one day a tender stalk emerges

Her slim green form is overwhelmed by the odds and ends

Looking all about, the sapling questions if this is all there is

The unexpected answer arrives promptly and carry’s a great risk

Barely breathing the sapling considers the choices lying before her

Understanding that by doing something there will be many deaths

The fledging also knows that doing nothing will mean her death

Wilting in a cluttered landscape the sapling waits and ponders

Fortuitously she remembers the sandbox when it all began

With a rolling expanse of warm pristine crystalline oatmeal

Imagination and creation passionately danced barefoot 

In a wonderful place where a heart can beat freely

The sandbox awash in wide open love with teeth

Stretching tall, she hesitantly begins sorting

It is arduous and there are many deaths

The diverse items are overburdened

  Encumbered with fact and fiction

The stalk nearly gives up twice

Gazing up at the sky in tears

Yet the sapling survives

Surrounded by sand

Wonderfully joy

Singing songs

This is all

There is