What We Leave Behind

In the beginning there is pressure and a crack appears. There is a breaking open. The light is let in, or let out, in this coming forth. It is always this way. The seed, the egg, the stars, the womb.  Swell, expand, crack, open, come forth. It is the way the universe began and how it continues. Observers, those who have the patience to watch, to wait and to consider, will all tell you everything is cycling. Water, air, seasons. Even the rocks are cycling, going down, down, down into the earth, being heated, melted, crushed, reformed and eventually rising out of it again, transformed into a new creation.

Eleven years ago when we moved in this house, there was a dying oak in the backyard. There was not much left of the grand being it had once been, just a fragmented part of its trunk struggling to hang on to life within a deteriorated stump. A few leaves. Miraculously, a few acorns. Eventually it gave in to the inevitable.

Soon nothing was left but a rotting stump. For the next winter a rat snake made a fine house underneath, cozy and safe.

I feel sure the snake had to move on because there is again an oak tree, standing eight feet tall in the same place the old one was. Its roots have grown deep and wide. It has encompassed and absorbed all the space and elements given to it. Before it died, the old tree dropped a small representation of everything it was made of in the form of an acorn. A nugget of DNA and the secret wisdom of the natural world. It rested in the heart of its giver, where decay nurtured it and brought it to life. A birth by way of death.

When the time was right, it cracked open and came forth.

 It is the way it always is.

 Human beings are made of the same elements. We are part of the same cycle. We come forth, we weather the seasons, we grow. We bring forth our own seeds, pass on our DNA and imprint
ourselves on those who shelter in our shade.

He has my eyes.
She has your smile.

She’s empathetic and artistic, like her mother.

He’d give you the shirt of his back. Just like his dad.

I’ll never forget that time. He let me lean on him when I needed someone trustworthy.

She could always make me laugh.

We just really got one another. Ya know?

The old tree died. But it is not gone. How can it be when it’s very own seed and the substance of what it was made of created the life standing in its place?  A life you can see and touch and looks in every way the essence of what came before.

It is that way with us too. When we give of ourselves in loving others, in reaching out to them and opening ourselves so they may find solace, kindness, generosity or hope, we leave ourselves here, nestled in the hearts of those we love. Memories cherished and tender moments unforgotten keep us here. And the more we give, the more of us remains.

This spring's tomato seed and the plant that came from it. A beautiful picture of what we create when

we give of our true self. It is November and the plant that came from this tiny seed is still producing

  fruit.