Step Up to the Plate of LIFE

I got a field inside me.
A whole landscape of soul and soil.
And on most days,
I walk it like a quiet morning
soft steps, open palms,
believing the earth beneath me is good.

But listen…
There are two farmers living in this body.
One is the higher self
steady hands, clear eyes,
planting seeds of compassion, courage, truth.
The one who whispers,
“We can grow something beautiful here.”
And then there’s the other one.
The shadowed one.
The one I tried not to see.
The lower self
unseen, unloved, un-nurtured,
carrying pockets full of seeds
it never asked to hold.
Seeds of fear.
Seeds of anger.
Seeds of bitterness
that grew from wounds I never tended.

And some days…
those seeds spill.
Some days I look at my field
and see weeds I swear I never planted.
Sharp leaves.
Twisted roots.
Fruit so bitter it burns my tongue.
And I want to blame somebody.
Because sometimes
let’s be honest
people really do walk through your life
with fists full of poisoned seed.
They toss discord like confetti.
They scatter torment like dust.
They plant anger in your soil
and smile while your harvest rots.
And I’ve stood there,
hands on my hips,
heart on fire,
shouting inside myself:
“This ain’t my fault!
I didn’t plant this mess!”
But the truth hits different
when the echo fades.
Because even if the seeds weren’t mine…
even if the storm wasn’t mine…
even if the bitterness came from someone else’s hand…
I’m still the farmer.
I’m the one holding the watering can.
I’m the one deciding what takes root.
I’m the one choosing what I harvest
and what I put on my plate.

So I had to walk my field again.
Slow.
Intentional.
Eyes open.
I found my lower self
that forgotten farmer
hunched in the corner of my heart,
holding those corrupted seeds
with trembling fingers.
And instead of yelling,
I knelt beside her.
I said,
“I see you.
I’m here now.
Let’s plant something different.”
And together
higher self and lower self
we pulled the weeds.
We sifted the soil.
We chose new seeds
with steady hands and open hearts.
Because the field is sacred.
Because the soul is soil.
Because every thought is a seed.
Because every action is a harvest.
And no matter who walks through your life
throwing chaos like handfuls of gravel…
You decide what grows.
You decide what you water.
You decide what you eat.
You are the farmer.

And when you choose your seeds with wisdom,
when you tend your soil with love,
when you honor both the shadow and the light within you…
Your harvest becomes healing.
Your harvest becomes truth.
Your harvest becomes nourishment
for you
and everyone who sits at your table.

https://www.tricinoel.com/post/no-title-is-required-what-do-you-name-it

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