There’s a necessary dying, and then [divinity] is breathing again.
Very little grows on jagged
rock. Be ground. Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up
where you are. You’ve been
stony for too many years. Try something different. Surrender.
I read that this morning. And I crumbled. But only for a little bit. Because, yes, I do crumble…and crumble often. But, it is something that I keep putting back together with the scotch tape of my ego. It works for awhile…until I crumble again. Then back to the scotch tape. Nothing is every really fixed…and also nothing is ever really allow to break. Ya know, and just be broken and have me admit that it’s broken and that perhaps I can’t fix it and may need to get assistance in fixing it…or even worse, just get rid of whatever broke/crumbled.
I feel that is what Rumi means with the wildflowers growing through in the poem. I’m resisting breaking new ground.
But the realization of this resistance is making me feel a bit more ok with letting some of the pieces just be crumbled and broken…lying wherever they are. For a little bit anyway…a little bit longer than I usually let them be all apart. Stretching out my times of brokenness, I guess. Sort of like a soul recovery period. Ya know, how like you have to have a day of recovery when doing intense physical training. Well, my soul is telling me that it needs the same thing. A day of recovery…of letting the wound be open and breathe and perhaps heal itself.