Home of the Sprouting Seeds

I renamed my church, again. Wait. Don’t go. Please hear me out…

Imagine a seed. Or better, a lot of seeds, all different kinds. They’re rattling around together, bumping into each other, making a bunch of noise but not actually doing anything very important. No dirt, no water, just seeds. They hold the potential for an amazing life inside each one of them but they aren’t active.

They ain’t woke.

Now imagine one seed being isolated from the others and dropped in the dirt. Trapped, lost, confused. That’s how I felt when Faerin died – buried alive, alone in my pain. Being tossed into the dirt really sucks.

Then came water – meditation, counseling, spiritual healing – it all served to nourish that perfect little prism inside of me and help me break open my shell if only a little bit. I still hear the noises made by the seeds I used to identify with, but I know so much more about the true nature of life than they do that I rarely listen to them anymore. They will learn or they will not learn, as they choose. They are all infinitely precious and rare and irreplaceable and, yet, they are merely one of an infinite supply of seeds.

I’m a sprouting seed. One of the countless thousands on Facebook who consider themselves to be “awakening” or “enlightened” or even a goddess. I spend more time than I probably should reading posts in these woke groups on Facebook. There is a great deal of confusion and chaos in these groups. You wouldn’t expect anything else from a bunch of seeds who know nothing but myths about full-grown plants.

Because the experience of sprouting, of awakening, is so powerful and leaves us so detached from everything we once understood about life, many sprouts think that now they are plants. They claim fancy titles and preach of the glories that their water has brought them. In truth, awakening, like gardening, is a process and not a destination.

I found that, in the beginning, it was a lot like being trapped in a seed with just one little crack in it. I had a hard time finding my path. It felt like stumbling in the dark and looking for the light. I would take one positive step in the right direction, then slide back and need to search my soul for the answer again. I had to keep finding my path, over and over. In time, the path became a little clearer and a little easier to connect with, as if the crack I was exploring was getting a little bigger and my limitations were falling away.

Right now I’m working on building up my roots before I even attempt to break the surface and head for the sun. I’m not a plant, not yet. I’m a sprout, nothing more.
But someday…