I’ve been thinking a lot
about the sheer power of destruction, lately.
The Giant Sequoia
is remarkably fire resistant, though born from flame.
when wildfires come, the heat opens their seed cones,
and once released, they fall, and are sown,
on the newly, fire-cleared,
only now ready,
Veteran’s Day reminded me
that World War I unleashed
horror, and pain, and blood,
and death, and loss, and hate,
and grief, and hunger, and soul-aches, spanning generations.
Then came a surprise.
By all accounts, a beautiful one.
Acres and acres and hillsides and swaths of
poignant, fragile, petals, whose seeds had lain deep underground,
dormant for untold seasons,
angry boots and menacing tanks and heart-broken shells
sliced scars deep enough into the earth, the sun – at last – touched them.
The seeds, only now able.
I know this is not always the case.
I know the Phoenix doesn’t always rise from the ashes.
But I also know that there is something strikingly true
about holy writ that tells of a Refiner’s fire
and of a trio locked in flames, whose only burning
were the knots that bound them.
And as I watch November wildfires
And too high seas rise, choked by melting ice caps and cafeteria spoons,
and loaded rifles aimed at desperate humans hundreds of miles away,
coming at the speed of stroller~
And all caps media posts, and breaking news that is only
breaking, and swastikas on synagogue doors, and school yard gates,
and downtown rallies.
I have to believe,
I have to hope.
I hope this is the final round of
Destruction needed to unearth a most vital human ingredient.
Shockingly skipped in nearly every grocery aisle and ad campaign and banner-wide notice.
A puzzle piece sorely missed.
Lost too often, of that I’m sure.
Being as human as I am.
I hope this is the moment it is
Set free upon us all.
Abundant and drenching and bountiful beyond teeming.
Something deeply true
and unendingly honest.
Aimed perfectly – at this just right time – into the center of our homes
I hope this is the time