When I get my hands dirty...

By: Nancy Kramer

When I get my hands dirty… I feel the nutrients of the soil absorb into my skin and into my bloodstream- my minerals replenished- my spirit awakens into a higher level of function. The farther and longer the time between my hands getting dirty- I wilt with deficiency. I vibrate at a lower frequency and my momentum slows- to a state of stagnation and sadness.

When I get my hands dirty… I shed my sluggishness- my senses stir, smells become sharper, vision clearer, scratches on my skin… a drop of blood drips, and I grow alert to where I am meant to be.

When I get my hands dirty… I am feeling the soil, my hands crave to loosen it- make space for a new being- a climbing vine, a sapling, an acorn. I yearn to keep planting new life, to bathe in the color spectrum of green.

When I get my hands dirty… I am planting seeds for a garden that will grow long after my existence- I break off the willow branches- slide them into the soft, moist mud- and then with reverence, witness as they sprout new life, their prolific hormones waiting to fulfill their genetic duty. My soiled hands open a door of opportunity, and in exchange, they will rise up tall and proud, their branches an intricate canopy of shade for my children. I sit beneath it quietly and watch a redwing blackbird land and break off a twig. It’s building its nest which holds three new pale blue eggs.

When I get my hands dirty… I open new life into myself, to others and a door of a natural legacy. One which will keep growing long after I am gone.

When I get my hands dirty, I become whole. Grounded, my fingers become my roots, my soul stretches up like morning glory into sunshine blossoms, and I feel vibrant life glowing through me with ecstasy.