I was thinking about compost. The skins, the seeds, the bones of the foods that nourish us; the leaves that soaked sunshine to feed the tree; the flowers that fed the hummingbird and our hunger for beauty. Each is essential to hold the very fabric of life together. When their useful life is over and retired into Mother Earth, she reconfigures their death into nutrient that feeds new life.

Our stories, our beliefs are compost. They once served us, held us together, as skin. The seeds helped us grow to the now when we understand that we ARE the seed.

It’s time for harvest. It’s time to peel the potato, to uncover ourselves, to be / to show in the raw the very essence of who we are. The seeds that once helped keep our hearts from breaking, the ego that led the way, are ready for the compost.

If we don’t relinquish the stories when their job is done, they begin to stink. The good news is, no matter how long we hang on to the dead, non-serving refuse, the moment we let it go and bury it in Mother Earth, she can and does begin her magic… birthing  sweet smelling new life.

What comes forth is not what goes in. It is just simply more pleasant to deal with fresh potato peelings than rotten eggs.

As we peel the potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner, may we be mindful to be our raw, juiciest selves.