This is how it goes. I have reached that certain age.

It’s the age of harnassing the power of plants. Grown from special seeds. Planted in nutrient dense soil for years and packed full with all the elements needed for growth. Enlightenment. Intelligence.Solitude.Fortitude. Dark.Light. Willpower. The soil is just as much a part of the cycle of growth as is the depth of the ground. It’s about the sun, shade, water, fertilizer and energy. It’s about how the soil is tilled and turned over from years of digging. And planting.

It’s an act of faith to plant seeds.

Some seeds grow. Some do not. Some seeds are shared with others along the way. Some seeds simply could not survive, so they became food for other seeds, or sustained creatures looking for a nibble to get through the winter. Or spring. Some seeds have shells that are soft and easy to break.This can be good for growing. This can also lead to mishaps along the way impeding the process of growth. Circumstance and all that.Some seeds have a layered hard shell making it difficult to crack open unless the conditions are just right. Little seeds. Big seeds. In the garden, you can plant seeds just so.You can do all the right things. You can use all the knowledge you have available. You can select the right spot. Right there. Right where seeds need to be for optimal light. But winds can pick up and scatter those seeds just about anywhere. You think you planted seeds there-only to discover they are sprouting up way over there. Or those seeds have headed into directions not visable to the eye. Those seeds were scattered by winds of change.Destination unknown. You hope they settle in whereever they landed. You hope they sprout the green of growth, and the vibrant colors of awe and wonder.

It’s an act of faith to plant seeds.

If you know what it’s like to dig deep with your bare hands, to get right in there and grab hold of soil that smells of earth and potential, then you know there will be dirt under your nails from all that digging. There will be lines etched out in dried mud in the palm of your hand. Life line. Heart line.Head line.Faith line.Sun line. Moon line. Covered in dirt, but visible. Keep digging. You plant impossible seeds in impossible gardens, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You learn more about the nature of gardening. The nuture of growth. Of plants. You listen to the whisper of something bigger. You look at the garden you have been given. You wonder how anything will grow. You test the soil. You plant anyway, because that is where possibility lives.

You come to understand what it takes each season to hope.You research optimal growth. You come to understand the limitations. The relentless hours of hope constantly compeating against limitations. You don’t want to talk about the weather. You are sick and tired of talking about planting seeds.

Don’t get me started on weeds.Fucking weeds.

Some weeds have strong roots. Weeds can grow in every condition imaginable.

You think to yourself, I just yanked that weed from my garden, and there it is again.

Again.

Fuck you weeds.

Fuck you seeds.

“In general, the optimum conditions for growing are those which mimic the environment that plant evolved in.”(Quora.com)

That explains a lot.

You come to understand you have been planting the wrong seeds. Hope springs eternal and all that. You tweak the conditions.You come to understand that sometimes, it’s the seeds.

It’s just the seeds.

Wrong seeds.

Right about that time, you feel something else taking shape. Stretching down into the earth, roots expanding, conditions be damned. You come to appreciate the soil. The dark, rich, nutrient dense soil.The beloved phylum annelida you have become begins to work in your favor. Those little segmented parts of your life are making sense, and like the continum of the earthworm and it’s ability to regrow each time one of their segments has been chopped in two, or three or a hundred, you too have grown. You go back to the garden. You plant more seeds.

You plant fuck you seeds.

See how you grow.