Let me do a little conscious digging and find out how types of real dirt relate to us. Since we are organic and made of dirt, then shouldn’t we be different kinds of dirt?
Dirt. n. the part of the earth’s surface consisting of humus and disintegrated rock.
Dig in our brains, in our cells, and even under our fingernails. We are a mosiac masterpiece. A human medley of generations; the good, bad and the ugly. When I study a person’s face, I believe they are a reflection of the decades past; their great grandma’s nose, their father’s big horse teeth, the slightest of feature racing back to heritage from years ago. We are a representation of the hardship, joy, tears and love. Be so thankful you’re you, even though sometimes you may think you got a bum deal and were handed a bad mix of genes. We are not given anything we cannot handle.
Marl. n. loose and crumbling earthy deposit consisting mainly of calcite or dolomite; used as a fertilizer for soils deficient in lime.
Mauled by marl. We may look like solid beings walking around neatly intact, but inside we are marl. Sometimes our inner self is crumbling under the weight of the world, and we feel like pieces of us are falling off as we walk down the street. But, wait…those crumbly moments are fertilizer for the good moments that lie ahead. The deficiency of understanding leads to “aha” moments that wake our thoughts and open our hearts.
I’ve read a children’s book many times to my kids called “You are Special” by Max Lucado. The message was if a “Wemmick” had a defect, it got a gray dot, and if one looked pretty or talented, it got a star. Punchinello the Wemmick had many gray dots while Lucia the Wemmick had no dots or stars – they didn’t stick on her. Punchinello wanted to know why, and later found out that it’s believing in yourself and finding out that each one of us is special and that we matter. There are no mistakes, just lessons.
Humus. n. Partially decomposed organic matter; the organic component of soil.
In order to be full of life and vigor, we need to have past decomposed memories. Even if those memories don’t feel like they give life to the present or the future, they “are the organic component” to self. What may look like a failure turns into fertile, rich soil: A basis to grow a rooty, deep red beet…a Sequoia tree that reaches to the sky…or a dainty, fragile wildflower. They (and we) will never grow without the nutrient-rich deposits from the past, which make up “the real dirt” of us.
Clay n. a very fine-grained soil that is plastic when moist but hard when fired.
Particles of dirt can make a sculpture, a mountain or a foundation for a house. Particles of us can make an elated, shy, angry, or smiley person. When soil is given sufficient rain, each drop represents life and makes it more pliable, moldable and flexible. That goes for us too: When we are given love, nourishment and enrichment to our soul, we are open to possibilities beyond our beliefs. We can be who we truly want to be. The parched clay hardens and cracks, and so do we. We can’t flourish if we are shriveled up from the inability to decide, create and jump into new possibilities.
Silt n. mud or clay or small rocks deposited by a river or lake.
As the days rush through our months, years, decades, centuries, milleniums, they leave settlings on us and our Earth. Layers of mud or rocks, layers of time, layers of life. As the snowstorms roll into Durango, they leave deposits (or dumps) of accumulating snowpack. These deposits can be unstable, break loose and come barreling down like a freight train. If we build up silty layers of sadness, resentment, doubt and unhappiness, how can we expect to have a stable life? And are we surprised when it begins to break loose? It finally gives way, finally releases the truth to reveal what we are made of. If a stable foundation of life is built in a healthy way, then the fruit of the reward is sweet, satisfying and savory.
I don’t know about you, but my “Soil of Self” is stirred up now. Whether my mood reflects marl, humus, silt or clay…I’m still here to play the game of life, and I choose to make it worth while.
Are you?
(Mosiac photo credit)
(Dirt photo credit)
(Sequoia photo credit)
(Silt photo credit)
(Sculpture photo credit)
