If it wasn’t for the ground, I would have fallen into the abyss and been lost to time long ago. The now familiar feeling of falling, thinking ‘Oh shit!’ as I see the ground rushing towards my face. The impact of the face plant, too fast to extend even my hand to break my fall, this trip towards the earth is nothing but a free fall.
The impact is shocking but there is no time to consider it. The weight of the world is pushing on my back, pressing my entire self into the ground as further punishment. Perhaps it is trying to remind me where I came from?
Eyes shut, darkness all around, breathing in the smell of dirt, scraped and bleeding from the rocks. Broken bones I cannot move, worse yet, broken spirit means I don’t want to move again, ever.
But you do, move again, although not everyone can or does and for some the fall and the injury to the body and spirit are too great to heal from. For those that fell into the abyss and didn’t hit the ground, I like to think they are the unseen hands all around that soften the fall for the rest of us.
It’s bittersweet, this cycle is. The bitter is the fall, the pain, the slow recovery, the scar making. The sweet is all the good before the fall and the journey back up again. It’s the love, being alive, breathing and feeling, being human.
The sweet is also the moment that the decision is made to pick yourself up because something, somewhere, tells you to. The sweet is hope and from hope the seed of life grows. From seed to sapling, into a Redwood or an Oak. We are all seeds on a journey, up from the dirt we climb, towards the dirt again we fall when it’s time.