A lot of the time I feel very much the stranger in a strange land. This is hardly Mongolia or an under the sea culture. This is America. There should be similarities. Yet everyday things can confound me. Each time i use a public bathroom the taps are different, I imagine people looking at me weirdly as i wave my arms about like a mad Medusa trying to get the sensor to work – until I notice someone turning it just like a regular tap. Oops. I’m a bad comedy routine at the grocery store where Scottish person is seen in a tug of war with the cashier over who packs the bags. I’m daren’t even venture to the self service aisle.
In the garden I make up little planters with succulents and put in a bed of broccoli, with my fingers deep in the tilled soil I pull out old narly roots. I’ve been thinking about roots a lot. There’s no new growth without roots. I need to reach down into the darkness, a little space to dream out possibilities and tap into that ancient spiritual bedrock.This is what builds a sense of place, a sense of self. There’s been so much change lately i’ve fogotten the simple stuff.
This time of the autumn equinox it is a time of transition and a chance for transformation. As the broccoli grows so I also I also must put roots down into this rich soil and slowly grow into this new life. I need to grow new shoots yet ones which are fed from an ancient spiritual bedrock. Roots which are fed from an all sustaining spiritual source.
* Photo taken from Flickr Creative Commons