Under the bridge it flowed
That thing called his life
His dreams
His goals
His precious time
Life force and joy.
He stood on that bridge and watched...
Life like a game of poo sticks
Wondering at what point the moment would arise when he would engage
Engage in a meaningful way
Make contact
Connect

But the bridge seemed so....
Well it seemed to be the most sensible place to be.
Dry
Safe
Warm enough...
And yet
All he did was watch
As other sailed by
He was not satisfied. He lacked...

Yet there seemed like no obvious remedy
No clear path
No solution
Like a man wishing to eat a mango without getting sticky
Or wishing for a fine garden without getting soil beneath his finger nails.

Feel the earth my friend
Let it paint a picture in your soul
Let something take root deep within
And give it time to grow...
Let the process take time
A tree does not grow in a day or a week or a month.
You must keep this space safe and moist
Cared for and nurtured
So that over time. A plant may grow.
This plant will be your joy
Your heart
Your elixir for life
It will make you whole.