I AM A WEED

I am a weed. I show up just about anywhere, but I'm not often welcome.

You poison me, nuke me, pull me, cut me. Mostly, you just consider me, somehow, inferior, or just wrong. I'm just too common. No exquisite breeding here. My grandparents were orphans. Even my voice is common, not exclusive and worthy like yours.

You are welcome at all the finest tables; I'm always an interloper. Your talents are refined and shaped by the best minds and rightly given their proper and due respect by your peers, the only people who know anything at all about what's really worth appreciating anyway! Problem is you all seem to think alike. What I say doesn't matter because, as you remind me again and again, there are voices that matter and those that do not. Most of the time you just ignore me.

But here's the thing. I'm not going away. I'll keep coming back, again and again. I have resiliency and flexibility. Give me so much as a crack in the sidewalk, and I'll sprout up. While you need the constant boost of accolades and credits and degrees, I don't. I know who I am. Do you?

I'm strong, and tough, too. Try and pull me out out of that spot on the sidewalk with the broken cement, and my roots, though barely visible, will stick firmly in the ground. You'll sweat a lot trying to get rid of me. I just chill, knowing even if you do pull me out, I'll grow right back.

I am the earth. I am the energy of the universe drawn down into that little green shoot. I can burst on the scene with the smallest trickle of water. I float chaotically on the wind and reside where I please. I thrive in droughts while flowers wilt.

You know, you might learn from me. I can help you see the parts of yourself you'd rather not see. I can show you that even the darkest, dirtiest corners, neglected in the backrooms of the mansions of your soul are still worthwhile, still useful somehow -- there might even be treasures there in the shadows. This is not the soul you show to the world though, the one your ego basks in like a reptile on a rock in the sun. This is your shadow soul. The dark matter. The one that I remind you of -- you know, the reason you want me kept down or eradicated -- the reason you want anyone who does not think just as you think to disappear. That dark soul is beautiful too and might just contain something you need, might just save you from the prison of your mind and your prestige. It's hard having always to be the best and associate with the best and think only what the best think. That's a heavy burden because deep down you know you're a fraud. It's OK because we all are.

That's the beauty of life. Our imperfections make us perfect, our flaws are our greatest strengths. The broken parts heal the strongest. I can heal you if you really see me. Look into my center, and I'll reflect back only wholeness and love: the love that is all around us and completely free, available to anyone and everyone, even you. And you don't have to do anything to earn this love. It doesn't matter whether you're worthy or not because none of us are and all of us are. That was your only error in judgment -- you thought you needed to earn love.

I actually love the dirt in you. I love the low and common parts of you, the poverty of spirit you seek to ignore. That's what unites us. I love the mean parts of you that hide behind your feigned arrogance, really insecurity, fearing what might happen if anyone saw these hidden, shameful fragments you say don't shame you, as you simultaneously live your entire life running from them, hiding in the safety of your high opinion of yourself.

I've seen your nakedness, and I was never repulsed by the wounds you protect. That's what attracted me to you in the first place. Together we can heal each other if only you'll let me.