What did I not want to see, inside of me?
What weeds grew, unnoticed, in fallow ground?
What was pressed down into the soil of my soul?
What seeds took root in the darkest crevises?
What shoots twisted up towards the light?
What spores grew in my muddy insides?
Was it anger, self loathing? Grief or bitterness?
“Close both eyes, to see with the other eye”, said Rumi.
So now I look inside, at my soil and my weeds,
And wonder at my inability to garden my soul.
But how do we differentiate twixt weed and flower?
What beauty grows in the cracks in the pavement?
Maybe, rather than merely pulling up weeds
Without thought or care, I can be curious
And wonder at the lessons the weeds are teaching.
Weeding is not destruction. It clears the way,
It creates space and lets in the the light.
The window on my soul was overgrown,
But I am weeding and sowing better seeds,
Determined now to nurture my fertile garden.
“The eye is the lamp of your body; when your eye is clear, your whole body also is full of light; but when it is bad, your body also is full of darkness.”