One of my favorite places to play, at the tender age of 3, was in my sandbox. Summertime sand was a welcome wake up to my toddler toes. I'd plop down gleefully free in the soft sand, scooping shovelfulls liberally. Soon I was ready to combine it with water and place it in my bright pink, white handled bucket, packing it down firmly like brown sugar in a measuring cup.
Upturning my bucket, the "castle" would be revealed and promptly judged to be crushed or left intact. Sticks or other objects might be added for enhanced interest, but often it was simply unsatisfactory and summarily smooshed for another try at castle perfection.
My soul is a sandbox. Here in this 50th year of my life, well past toddlerhood, I am still digging, scooping, digging, forming and smooshing. It is an unexpected pleasure to be here, still playing really, in the sandbox of my soul.
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Kitchen tools, plastic shovels, spoons left by grandma to move sand, shape holes and create. I think sand is a great metaphor! I know it has brought me much. Its reflective qualities, its insulationin warmth and its glistening in the sun. I have seen treasures in it and tragedy in it. Watch it wash away as quickly as it came. Seeing the power of water once again, time and time again take everything back to its origin...Kangen...means in Japanese..."return to origin!" Aren't we heading there anyway? It is the journey not the destination! Cheers my dearest friend! I celebrate your launch and your braveness! I am here in your shadow!
ReplyDeleteI'm grateful for all the spoons, cookie cutters and other shaping tools you have brought to my sandbox Ann. Glad we get to be exploring together in this soul exploration adventure! : )
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