The Black Gold of Relationship

Well, spring has sprung here in Chicago. Barely. It isn’t snowing or blowing as much and the temperature is creeping (slowly) upward. It’s funny how we have come to call this season “spring.”

I suppose it would be awkward to refer to it as the Days of the Vernal Equinox, although Vernox would be fun and sort of appropriate in a Dr. Seuss sort of way. The Lorax is definitely a springtime fable in my book, all about the environment and how we relate to the world around us. We even have a tendency to refer to the beginning of better things to come as “springs,” like the Prague or Egyptian Spring, although Libya might have to wait until Summer.

So, as the perky little shoots of this and that (micro flora to be exact) spring forth into existence through the muddy clumps of mushy leaves I am confronted with matters of life and death, or more intellectually speaking: deterioration, disintegration and resurrection. In fact, I need only look to my hallway closet for evidence of this cycle of life. Last week I discovered a Tupperware container full of red worms, newspaper and old banana peels tucked between a stack of clean towels and some rolls of paper towels. My wife’s new composting project would have won me a science fair “honorable mention.”

And yet, it’s all really about composting, isn’t it? As a relationship focused fella, I don’t need to travel far to make the connection between past relationships and the composting required to sprout new strengths, abilities and insights for emerging relationships. Indeed, without allowing old incarnations of relationship to decompose we run the risk of spreading hopeful new seed onto the same old, tired, stuck soil.

I have dabbled in more than a little gardening through the years and I know that I can get the best darned seeds in the world but if I plant them into old, tired, mineral hungry soil I am going to have problems. Likewise, if we don’t learn from the past and put certain old patterns to rest, we run the risk of regenerating the same genetically modified experience and then what…?

We run the risk that our cucumbers will be as small as pickles and our melons will taste like tomatoes. Your past is the black gold needed to nourish your future. Compost away!