Blueberries and cream

Recently I lay in bed eating blueberries and cream, a comfort food and favorite treat from my youth as we ate it frequently on my Aunt’s dairy farm during the wild and hazy summers of my youth. At that moment I was struggling within myself to understand the circumstances I was surrounded by.  I was fighting my Higher Power without realizing it.  I was clawing for reason in an incomprehensible situation and grasping for control.  As I neared the end, the bottom of the bowl, a berry fell from my spoon and onto the blanket that lay crumpled in my lap and, without thinking, I hastily and greedily picked it up and placed it into my mouth with the last of the ripe and juicy fruit. I bit down on it and quickly realized my mistake.  This berry that had been thrown from my spoon was rotten, the only sour one in the bunch, and I had allowed it to wreck the rest by demanding that I take in every last drop.  I thought it a perfect example of my current situation. A clear representation of my troubles. An answer to my prayers for peace.  That berry had been tossed aside by God himself and, as arrogant as I had been, I thought I knew better than He.  The spoiled taste that lingered wouldn’t ruin my sapid snack because bad tastes can be washed clean from the tongue.  Such is life.  Life lessons are compilations of little messages from my Maker and seemingly inconsequential events that gather together on top of my soul and consciousness, grounding me in an honest reality, create a magnetic shell around my spirit that directs my moral compass.  I began to see it all clearly.  I knew what the berry represented and I saw the value in the event.  I was not born to be devoured like the berry or take from the land like the hungry field mouse.  I am the gardener, not the fruit.  I was given the dirt and the tools to tend to it, I would no longer be buried by it.  I would do the work to reep and sow and I would use what I’d gathered to create and nurture.  I would use the rotten things to benefit the seeds that were growing, letting them fall beneath my feet to fertilize the soil.  And, as the signs directed me to do, I would keep the garden gate open for anyone who needed a bite and anyone who wanted to learn to work the Earth as I’ve done.  So long as I share it all with others, my rewards would be bountiful and abundant, raining down on me from a nameless Father and Mother Nature herself.