Compost

Yesterday I worked hard. I tended my garden, both literally and figuratively. I inhaled the clean, spring Seattle air mixed with the smell of fresh mulch that held just a hint of manure. A pile of dark earth was delivered to my home. Who knew that a mound of dirt could hold so many opportunities for discovery, such as tiny rocks and other things that somehow survived the composting process?

Is life on earth simply a composting process? Before yesterday I thought of the composting process as only a breaking down or decaying procedure, but interestingly enough the root word ‘compositum’ actually means ‘something put together’. So, I ask the question again, is life simply a composting process?

I wonder, will we allow ourselves to be broken down until only our true self is left, like the pebbles that arrived in my heap of compost? Will we stay in the process until there is no more space for barriers and defenses? Until what you see is what you get? A life as pure as a pebble.

We are called to be true to our nature. A rock is a rock. A bird is a bird. Water is water. People are people. We cannot be anything else. Yet maybe we are most like water as we take on the colors and reflections of the world around us. But when we try to reflect what is not our nature, there is disharmony and confusion. If water reflects a flame, it does not become fire. It is still water. We, too, can reflect many things, but to be at peace—to be whole and true to ourselves and to God—we need only be who we naturally and truly are at our very core.

Some of us resemble rocks and some are free as birds, others are beautiful flowers blossoming anew each day. And, me? Well, I am simply a child playing in this magnificent garden.