the secret life of seeds

It's kind of amazing to sit down to an expanse of white space with no idea what to say and finding words, then thoughts and whole ideas being birthed from nothing. I had one such surprise yesterday. I'm currently working on a novel and during a brainstorming session I realized that I have more to say, more stories to tell than I originally thought. One starts out with a tiny seed: an inkling of a character or an intriguing setting or scene. Then after cultivating it, tending it as one would a garden, all the truth that was hidden inside begins to emerge before your eyes. One might rejoice at the frail green form poking out, but then, when there is even more, when it grows beyond anything a tiny seed could possibly hold, the effect is mystifying.

I just keep thinking about the stories of our lives, the rich tapestries they weave. How much we could tell, how each telling creates our reality. How each life begins as a tiny seed in darkness. How just by living, emerging and growing we have something both unique and universal to tell the world.

Mystifying, I tell you.