Fiction. Based on a True Yearning for Release.
By Leanna Glenn Markham
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.
I wonder if seeds experience a form of impatience. If those germs of life have a longing to push out of their encasements, and feel the damp earth merge directly with the creative energy within them.
A person can plant and water, fertilize and sing, but not one person on earth can make a seed germinate. It either will or it won’t. There’s a deep eternal mystery in it. The tiniest thing can produce grasses that multiply and cover plains and hillsides, or towering trees with leafy canopies. They can result in luscious, nourishing fruit of vibrant color, tasting of sweet sunshine. Or turnips.
Some of my internal seeds seem to lie dormant even in high season under my devoted care. The me inside them pushes against the shell. Wanting sunshine, wanting to expand, petals full in their fragrance, out into the fresh air.
Why can’t I be all done growing now?
A gentle, firm hand pats the earth above me. Not yet. Not yet. The season isn’t here. You are not ready for the cold air now. You could not withstand the hungry creatures that would gnaw at your stem before you even sprouted a bud.
You mean wait?
Wait and develop. So much strength lies beneath the soil. Learn to open, to go deep and go broad. Learn what nourishes and gives life before you break through.
What if I take too long and miss the season?
Not to worry. You have a season all your own. I am making it ready. Making you ready.
But I know so many other flowers have burst through. I hear everyone talk of the superbloom. I want to be part of it. To live in my full glory, and bring joy and beauty to the world!
Your seed shell is tougher than that of the other flowers. But it’s for a good reason. Trust me.
What good could come from me blooming alone, off season, too late to be noticed? By the time I surface, even the bees will have left.
Little flower, I wish I could show you.
I wish I could see!
Just keep drinking and pushing. Drinking and pushing. Open yourself right where you are. Don’t wait till you see sunlight. Keep at it. Grow in your strength.
It’s just so dark in here.
It won’t be for long. For you are a wildflower about to push through a crevice of rock on a high place, traveled by few. But those who go there take in all I give them with holy awe.