seed podsSpring has exploded here. Today I sat on our new back porch and waited for something to happen. It did. The first rule of spring is life. Everything is aching to live. Life is a gamble. We can’t have life without death. Embedded in each graceful seed pod that pushes its way through the air is the promise of finality.

I’ve been reading the book “Big Sur” by Jack Kerouac, and he keeps reminding me of that zen proverb that “everything is the infinite.” If he is correct then the forces of spring carry with them two realities. The first reality is the promise of death; that all that greets the world with this robust spring must pay the autumnal piper;  that fall is never far away. Fall is in our marrow. That is the finite.

But this post is about the second reality. That reality is that everything contains the infinite, and death is powerless over us. Birth is impossible because everything already existed. Ideas like grace go from being abstract concepts to being yet another shade of color on the palate of our consciousness.

Sitting on my back porch I become the perfect landing spot for seed pods. Each seed pod brings with it birth, death and infinity. Each pod is a promise of renewal. The lush carpet of hungry grass is so green it hurts your eyes. It is green in the way a newborn baby cries for milk. It is green in the same way a teenage boy asks the love of his young life to the prom. It is green with a grasp into both worlds. The finite and the perfect world of infinity.

The trees in our backyard battle each other for airborne real-estate. Their wooden fingers point upward in prayer, scratching the sky to be fed. Everything wants to live. I want to live. Everything is willing to fight to live. I am willing to fight to live. Everything is willing to endure the chrysalis stage to be born again. Maybe I need to see all the chemotherapy drugs as my long toxic sleep with dreams of renewal. I want to live long enough to paint the sky with my wet wings. I want to live long enough to emerge from the pupa stage and fly again.

I carry with me the promise of rebirth, death and most importantly the infinite. Nothing is born or dies in this last reality. I was here all along. Time is the illusion. My butterfly wings will echo into eternity. That I am sure of.

With Fierce Hope,


One Thought on “Carpets of Green

  1. Judy Schoonover on May 12, 2015 at 10:34 am said:

    Good morning Jim, you and your faith, strength and attitude just amaze me. Also your ability to write and share your story. Wishing for you a good day today…judy

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