no mud, no lotus

no boots, no gloves

bare feet, open fingers

i sink, i release

yet

i can’t

because

there is

no mud, no lotus.

I scribble these words—no mud, no lotus—as a writing prompt, and find myself falling into the moment: creating a poem.  In that free form experiencing, I see that sometimes we want to surrender into the feeling, but we are afraid to sink because we believe that tools are necessary.

No boots, no gloves. No mud, no lotus.

We are not protected from the elements or our hearts; especially when we are parched, and words do not fall from our lips.

Yet it is the very elements, dry sand and clay, that we can scoop up, hold for a few moments, and let it sift through our hands, slowly feeling the grit of our existence, knowing that one day the rains will return filling the pools, and making puddles.

And, that lotus seed will crack open, roots sinking into the mud, as its stem bends upwards, slowly budding and unfolding into the lotus flower.

But first, we must learn to let go of that seed, skip it across the sand and wait for those rains to flow again before we can pick the lotus.

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Ed: Sara Crolick