Vibrant Days… Flourishing with Sensory Processing Sensitivity
by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
I am here to remember my place
in the field, to remember again how
what looks dead can, in just a few days
of warmth, turn vibrant and green.It can be so hard sometimes to have hope,
yet even knowing what winter did,
look at all this life.
I am here to remember again how the field
is made of uncountable blades of grass,
and how I, too, am one of many
that make up the whole, all of us growing
together. Knowing this, I feel at the same time
the truth of my insignificance and
the truth of our mutual greatness.
I come to the field to learn what the field knows—
a belonging beyond language, a vastness
that opens in me, a cell-deep trust in life itself.
This is how we learn. By listening. In the wind,
each blade of grass sings the smallest of songs,
joins in a chorus of rub and swish and kiss
as each blade whispers, this, this, this, this.
Quote I’m pondering:
I am beginning to suspect that love – – – romantic, familiar, or forged in friendship – – – is not about seeking your reflection. It is about being stretched toward someone who will never be you. Sometimes that stretching is expansive and joyful. Sometimes it is humbling– a kneeling. Sometimes it is a paddling toward the manatee when every instinct says turn back.
What if love is not recognition, but revelation? What if the point is not to find someone who wants exactly what we want, exactly when we want it – – – but whose difference is to teach us what we would otherwise fail to notice?
Suleika Jaouad
