recently i spent some time looking for a home. and let me tell ya, those realtors sure do downplay the muck that exists. “oh, don’t worry you can fill that shit in, honey.”
NO! give me muck! i love it! i live for muck. no, really.
cause have you all seen what springs forth from the primordial ooze?
have you seen the jewel of a lotus bloom from the muddy depths?
is it not a blazing freaking neon metaphor for life, the magical beautiful flower coming up from the sludge of muck to bloom and grow and bloom and make seeds and make friends and bloom and bloom and bloom? and then to give back to the cycle….
and is the miracle not fleeting, and a statement on life and US and our whole “human” deal?
sometimes the joy is not as obvious and easy as we would like it to be. sometimes the joy doesn’t look like a better homes and gardens centerfold.
but isn’t life worth getting muddy for? isn’t it worthwhile to roll up your damn pants and dig in, to find some soothing scullcap or some delicious calamus root or some queenly angelica? to hear the song of the ancient bullfrogs and see the buzzing blue dragonflies? to enjoy the swoops of bats flying and the slithers of snakes crawling?
i do believe that good things come to those who are not afraid to get a little mud on their outift, literally and figuratively, and even better things come to those who ARE afraid but do it anyway. and if there is nothing else i contribute to this paved-over wetland of an earth which i so love, i would like this one point to be chiseled on my gravestone while i slowly turn back into the swamp from which i came:
all things which are good and beautiful in this world owe their existence to the mysterious, the muddy, the dark, and the sludge in some way, shape or form.