I have known since long before I was
A gardener that weeds seem always to
Find their way back around. I am
Unsurprised when a dark day finds me
Again; this is the work of darkness.
What darkness knows is to come and to come
Again. To make a home where it is
Unwelcome. I am unsurprised to find myself,
Again, in the struggle with my
Self, taking up the trowel and digging
Out what does not belong. I am
Learning that this is a laborious
Endeavor, that this is not one of the
Disciplines that eases with practice.
I am surprised in the moments when an
Other voice speaks within, whispering,
“What if there were another Way?”
Instead of warfare, a path to transformation.
Violent striving traded for redemption, anger
Disarmed. Repurposed not as a bludgeon for
Holy conflict, but as a plow for the
Holy passion of sowing righteousness,
Of reaping peace. Could my
Pride be opened wide, turned to face
Outward. Not self-exaltation, but lifting
Up my neighbor in stride?
I have lacked
Imagination. I have lost what I later learned
In the garden: that weeds are flowers too,
By a lesser name.
(March 23, 2021)
