remaining embassadors of trust

At 4:47 in the morning, racing down the highway at 145km's an hour doesn't seem that fast. Glancing in my rear view every once in a while, the dark sky was slowly fading into a hazy grey. I suspect it's a color not very many of us are familiar with. I've only ever seen it this early in the morning - the color of transition - I imagine it's the color of sunrise before it hangs itself upside down from the sky and is flushed with shades of blood orange, red and pink.

Half an hour later I am well out of the city now... and noticing that every sunken valley is a hidding place for fog. In the farmers fields it was beauty... but ahead of me that same fog stretched itself across my path and now my stomach was sinking. I knew I wouldn't be able to see a thing. I exhaled long and slow as I let the car slow to 100. If you can picture it in your head I was at the very moment of disappearing into the fog listening to Phil Collins "Long Long Way to Go." I am not kidding. And I was right, I couldn't see. But in a blink, and without enough time to even spell the word "worry," it was over and the fog was breaking up and then gone. Ignoring the road in front of me, I starred dangerously in my riew view mirror as the image of the fog laying limp across the road became smaller and smaller. A smile stood from the corner of my mouth.

Words started coming to me as the highway unfolded. Questions. Wonderings. Like whether or not our newest generations will ever get to know the value of dirt under their finger nails? Or understand the simplicity of sunshine and rain and the power it has over sowing and reaping. I need to know... do farmers experience more of our world than we do here in the city? Or just a different part of it? Have enough of us paid attention to a single sunrise?... not counting the times one may have blinded us through the windshield as we crept along on our morning commute.

I worry because we are such a busy society. We miss so much, including each other. Famous for scheduling the masses into our tiny timeslots. How many of us still remember what it feels like when a conversation comfortably ends all on its own? Without an "I have to get going," or the ring of a cell phone "sorry, I have to take this." How do we ever scratch the surface with each other? How can we say we truly "know" one another? Having studied the cover... can we really say we've read the book?

Field after field... farmers amaze me. They are perhaps our last remaining embassadors of trust. Watch any one of them plant their seeds. A farmer knows that even with all of his effort some seeds simply won't grow, and with that same confidence, he also knows that the rest of them will - and that's what matters. I have never seen a farmer run back to his field after a long hard days work, drop to his knees and start digging up his seeds to see how they're doing, or check if they've taken to the soil okay. There is trust... and even more so, there is incredible patience.

We should think on this for a while. It applies to the way we invest in each other. It applies to those moments when we give... and for some reason can't let go, can't separate ourselves from the act. To embrace our part is to simply plant the seed. This is a whole other kind of farming, and a whole other handful of seeds need to be sown... with trust and even more so, with incredible patience.

being is not fitting

The words don't come any easier 37,000 feet up. I keep getting turned around in my head. Even the guy next to me on the plane is asking me... "so... what's it about?" Is it really that bad that I don't know? Am I useless without intent? It's not enough that I'm here, tapping the world on the shoulder intending to shout, but praying I don't come out just a pathetic whisper? I intend on conversing. Just as I step out to take on the day... having no idea who I'll meet, talk to, bump in to, see... really, do any of us have pre-meditated "intent" in those moments? It's just you being you, and it's just me being me.

Why is it so different to put a pen to paper as though they just bumped in to each other? To follow what surfaces inside and walk with it... until it has to get going, pick up its kids at school, head to a meeting, or catch up with you later? I can't spell the sound I just heard some of you make in my head... y'know, the pppffffst sound... the one that goes hand in hand with the severe rolling of eyes... "what the hell are you talking about?" kind of pppppfffst. "First of all it's nonsense... and even if it weren't, who has the patience for that..." you continue pppfffsst'ing... "who cares??" Ok stop. Did you see that? The look I just made... let's paint that the backdrop here.... Have you ever thought about how long the same words have been circling through our mouths, ears, minds, phones, computers, televisions, and radios..... for centuries. Ever wonder where things anew come from? From within. A seed, fostered by curiosity and imagination. An open sky and plenty of water. By letting what is within have a say, a place, even just a moment to be. Sometimes I wish I could just get people to understand - shake them and say... "c'mon just roll up the rim!"

Yeah, that's right... every year Tim Horton's has their roll up the rim contest. Under the lip of every cup there is either nothing... or something... and as we find every year goes by... prizes remain unclaimed. New cars, laptops, cash. How is that even possible?! Maybe some people didn't take the time to roll up the rim. Or, they did and in the hustle and bustle threw their winning cup out with the trash. In the same way that prizes go unclaimed... so too... does everything within.

Our seeds struggle. Trying to sprout - but just can't. Whether we are too busy, or too cluttered with focus elsewhere. Too busy defining our... intent... and then redefining it at every other turn in life. This is not to say re-defining goals is not healthy and imminently valuable... I am talking about the pursuit of the constant fit-in. We're doing what we should, right? Because being really means fitting, doesn't it? It does, I know. It so often does.

So grab the dice - shake 'em good and maybe the next sentence will sound new. I worry we are failing ourselves as we realize it's no longer about the creation of a work, but the re-work of creations past. Re-arranging words, putting commas in new places. Is this our future? Or are we willing to work the land within and dig a little. It's not a question.... but a statement... and we all know someone in our life who will act on it, and we continue to love and be-friend those we know just won't.

Stop fitting, start being. Tap the world on the shoulder, and walk awhile... because you may just have something new to say. And even if you don't, we'll catch up with you again later.