Saturday, March 8, 2014

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

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