French la Vie

Here are two comments I received today and thought to share them with you:

“Untangling what exactly?

Silk threads from string?

Ribbon from rope?

Branches from roots?

Genes from tumors?

SNAP benefits from food insecurity?

Shrapnel from bombs?

Metaphorical thoughts from reality?

To Prayers to what god for what values of privilege?

The USA election reflects a vision I dislike but must endure It happened.

A simple gesture from me today may help a stranger today. Do not mind the despots.” Sent by SV

The rice fields surrounding my mother’s home are deliberately flooded by the nearby canal, a practice that serves a vital purpose in the farming cycle. The standing water helps break down the remaining stubble and stalks from the harvest, which are eventually worked back into the soil to prepare the land for future planting, continuing the rhythm of the farm’s lifecycle.

(Years ago a photo I took of my nieces in the rice field.)

This is an act of renewal, breaking down to nourish the soil for future crops. It reminds me of how we, too, must let go — not only of the difficult moments, but even of the good harvests and daily joys. We might hold on tightly to the things that bring us comfort, but both the struggles and the blessings are part of what prepares us for what comes next. The future is unseen, like the seeds beneath the surface, but it’s in those moments of surrender that we create space for new growth. Though we may not always understand it, both the good and the bad work together to nourish tomorrow’s harvest, making us stronger and more resilient for what lies ahead.

As uncomfortable as it is; The process of breaking down and rebuilding is as much a part of life as growth itself. 

The second comment was a poem- read below.

I want a new ritual for when we meet each other— strangers or beloveds, friends or rivals, elders or children. It begins by holding each other’s eyes the way we behold sunrises or the first cherry blooms, which is to say we assume we’ll find beauty there. And perhaps some display of open hands— a gesture with palms up—that suggests both I offer myself to you and I receive you. There should be a quiet moment in which we hear each other breathe— knowing it’s the sound of the ocean inside us. If there are words at all, let them be formed mostly of vowels so they’re heard more as song than as spitting, more like river current and less like throwing stones, words that mean something like I do not know what you carry, but in this moment I will help you carry it. Or something like, Everything depends on us treating each other well. And if we said it enough, perhaps we’d believe it, and if we believed it enough, perhaps we’d live it, treating every other human like someone who holds our very existence in their hands, like someone whose life has been given us to serve, even if it’s only to walk together safely down the street, hold a door, pass the salt, share a sunset, offer a smile, and say with our actions you belong. —Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer