A wooden palette leans against a wire fence in the back field tall grass of the dog park.  Feels like me.  Does it feel useless like me?  It once was a proud tall tree, then cut and sliced and sit and structured.  It spent years as a powerful support working with fork lifts holding tons of weight.  Then used for flotsom & jetsom purposes, it leans in the rain, in the sun, in the snow it leans.  I doubt it feels useless.  It smiles in the sun, drips easy in the rain, glistens proud in the frost and wedding blushing white in the snow.  Only a human creates that illusionary vacuum of value in herself.

Pesky beliefs and expectations of being of use as the purpose of life.  A human constantly “doing” instead of “being”.  Only a human with this idea of a conscious mind would feel disatisfaction to ask such a question.  I doubt if the gravel grouses as it is pulverized into fine sand, or the wood chips break down at the small splinters of their existence.  So is my purpose to be racked with this belief that I am useless without a purpose just to get to the resolution of being still?

Ok, well, today I practice being still and knowing that nature knows–and being on a need-to-know basis, I really don’t need to know more than that.  Follow cues, speak when spoken to and appreciate the weather just as it is.

As if the world was given to me as a gift of love–bird call love songs, sun warm embraces, breeze caressing my cheek, sage fragrance smudges, green healing curtains of tiny new leaves.  Resiliant love of new briars returning after all pruning efforts.  Heart full and now ready to overflow.