Tag: Juicy

Post Thanksgiving Gratitude

So alright already.  We just spent a day dedicated to nothing but thankfulness with family and a little football thrown in. We got in the spirit. We brought food, overate and were glad to be together.  For some perhaps, a thankfulness that we got through yet another year.  Moms, Dads, cousins, grandchildren…dancing our dance of said and unsaid…dancing our dance of love.

Something lingers unsaid, undone.  Someone was left out.  You.  Me.  Have you given thanks, felt deep gratitude for you?  Have you acknowledged  your own blessedness?  Have you counted the gift that you are to others, to the world? Have you looked into your heart with awe, understanding the piece of God that you are?  Have you understood the miracle that you are to others?  Have you basked in the juiciness of your very being?

Bask.  Understand.  Look.  Count.  Acknowledge.  Give thanks.


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.

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