I don’t know if it’s just me (I have a hunch it’s not), but I’ve had bouts of feeling helpless in the last few weeks.
I listen. I let the stuff go from my mind to my heart and back to my mind, in search of an antidote. But very little bubbles up, which isn’t like me. It makes me uncomfortable.
And yet, I believe in gifts. Particularly in gifts wrapped in weird paper.
Strangely enough, I’ve been in Mexico since the 20th of January, since “that day.” I didn’t exactly plan it that way, it just happened—the way life sometimes makes things happen just right, with a smile and a wink. When I left my home island, I was disappointed to be missing the Women’s March.
But when I arrived in the sweet little fishing village a few hours later, I was amazed to be immediately invited to another march—beachside, colorful and passionate, with signs in English and Spanish.
It was joyful, it was loud, it was powerful. And it was a gift.
At one point, a young local woman got up in front of the crowd and shared a short proverb in Spanish. She said, “Quisieron enterrarnos, pero se les olvido que somos semillas,” which translates approximately to, “They wanted to bury us, but they forgot that we were seeds.”
I love this.
As I go about life now back in the United States, I have this odd feeling of “What can I do?” In response, I try to hang on to that thought of being a seed. A seed that is deeply alive, full of intelligence and resources, full of hope and power. A seed among many other seeds just as potent and strong. Other seeds whose job is to drink the life-giving water, push through the dirt, turn toward the sun, and grow.
Today, I invite us all to remember our glorious seed-ness. To be with the occasional feelings of smallness, but remember that together, we can, and will, push through the dirt and grow our shiny and green true leaves. We will turn toward the sun and grow bright and strong and when the time is right, we will make another batch of seeds for the wind to carry, again and again.
Together, we are going to grow an even kinder, stronger, safer, and more respectful forest for all of us to drink in and savor.
There is no end to our glorious seed-ness, our powerful seed-hood.
I invite you to join me in celebrating our new forest, and I invite you to join me in believing in this gift wrapped in weird paper.
Author: Laura Lavigne
Editor: Callie Rushton