Here’s my list, the top 5 jobs I would have if I could do anything:
- Back up singer for Bob Marley
- Dallas Cowgirl
- Luxury Spa reviewer
- Creative director
So you can share my excitement that on Monday, the anniversary of my car incinerating (along with a10-year relationship, that’s another story), I picked up a shovel and got to be #5 on that list.
Shovel in hand, I walked over to a little spot on the property that had been buried for 6 long years in junk.
It started with piles of scrap lumber, sand, and other construction debris, then grew into a mountain of random building materials that were never used.
And once that got cleaned up, it held a giant pile of tree trunks (now firewood, blessed be).
All the while, my pretend-archeologist self knew something was under there. Something special waited under that pile.
For 6 long years, I’d gaze out at this junk pile, watching it grow, watching briars loop around it all like barbed wire, and I waited.
I waited until last Monday.
Mountain of never-used building materials gone, firewood neatly split and stacked, all that remained was a muddy little briar patch.
I walked up to it, aimed my shovel, stood on it’s edge to drive it deep into the mud, but then…
Cink. The shovel hit rock.
I moved about a foot. Cink. More rock.
I smiled, rolled up my sleeves, stretched my hamstrings a little, and then lost myself in a project I’d waited so long for.
Hour by hour, slowly but surely, I uncover mammoth boulders.
Big and flat-ish, big enough to have a picnic on, big enough for a Mermaid to hoist out of the deep waters of heartbreak and sun herself.
Here, in the heart of Priestess season when purification resounds, I am removing the dirt and debris from this buried treasure.
Here, one year since a car fire opened my eyes to all sorts of purification that needed to happen in my life, I uncover the treasure of my Self.
Bolstered by the momentum of the Priestess season, my work of uncovering treasure, “purification”, goes quickly.
I dig out the edges of the boulders so that the little spring-fed stream can meander along naturally instead of through a “drainage ditch”, straight and boring.
As I dig away the red mug, the lines of color emerge in the boulders, some earth-from-space blue, some deep red, some white, some storm cloud grey.
My shovel slowly reveals the contours of these big, flat boulders. Like sculpture.
I feel potential for altars, gatherings, and rituals.
I see myself sitting on these rocks, scrying in the stream, sipping tea with a friend, sitting under the moon.
I see my pals the fox, the deer, the bear families, and the birds able to access this water.
I see the bones of this mountain that holds me, and her waters moving effortlessly.
No longer masked as a “junk pile”. No longer a source of frustration, an insurmountable ever-worsening load of human ridiculousness.
Pure. Beautiful. Functional. Beneficial.
It was there all along.
I just had to dig it up.
Just like my Self.
I’m not done. There’s still a lot of mud left, a lot of beautify to uncover.
And as the mud and sediment from my digging clears, rivulets of mica will settle in the stream, golden and glistening. Moss will grow, and ferns, and wild dogwoods.
With patience, work, and consistent stewardship, it will only get more beautiful.
Just like me.
love & shovels
PS: obviously my ideal outfit as pretend archeologist is a white linen shirt, a silk scarf, and perfectly weathered khakis. But a sweatshirt, a pink hat, and a red vest will do.