Saturday, May 1, 2010

A Scattered Thought Process

I feel like an ass sometimes.

I’ve shoveled my driveway in February and I blistered the sole of my foot. This morning I changed the gauze pad; my foot continues to bleed.

Okay, it’s May.

I feel like an ass because 3 times a day I walk around my block. I don’t walk further; my foot can’t take the price of the pavement. Too far - too risky. Yet I sit all day and the muscles in my legs need to stretch. So I walk around the periphery of my block.

And I feel like a tot who's only allowed to tricycle without crossing a T.

This morning while on my march, I noticed the dandelions. Now because of diabetes, my eyesight isn’t what it should be. So instead of a pointillistic panorama, I see more of an impressionistic view. I noticed the green grass spotted with daps of bright buttery hues. And I was amazed by the beauty. Dandelions are cheerful. They are an exquisite example of evolution. They bloom; they burst. They shine; they scatter.

And then I grew angry.

I can't fathom the bulk of balls it must take to decide that a creation of God hasn't merit.

Can you imagine a friend walking into your home and telling you that she abhors the pigment of your painted walls? Your feelings would be hurt.

Can you imagine bending to bark at your toddler because you don't like his crayoning on his colored gifted Mother's Day card?

And yet mankind has decided that dandelions must be decimated.

And so they take a pump and purge the plant with poison.

And a child lingers on the lawn.

And his soft skin soaks in the substance.

And his doctor sits on a stool and lowers his voice and says words like "cancer" and "toxic" and "prognosis" and "diagnosis."

And his parents lower their voices and raise their balled fists and bawl to a dismissed God, "WHY?"

God provided a pleasant view for an eye.

But our eye wanted an I.

Eye for I.

Dandelions were alive.

Life for Life.

Limb For Limb.

And the sorrow scatters in the Son until it falls on the fallow fields.

A whirled without end.

Amen.