Spring invites us to clean; to open windows, sweep corners, and clear what's accumulated. Fresh air rushes in, and suddenly we see it: dust bunnies swirling in the sunlight. Our instinct is to grab the broom and sweep them away. But what if we paused instead? What if we asked: What is this dust? Where did it come from? What might it be trying to teach us?"
I Am Done Being Fixed
Dust,
Dirt,
Friend or foe?
Swirling,
Tumbling,
Swaying around,
Visible,
Invisible,
Encompassing.
Above us, below us,
And in between,
Lurking mysteriously everywhere.
Do I keep you,
Or toss you away?
I wonder when we’ll meet again?
Until I witness the dance of light,
how each flake carries what’s breaking down,
Not debris to discard,
But matter in transition,
Finding its way back to Earth.
I am done being fixed;
I am learning to heal.
They call it dirt;
I call it becoming:
In the soil, patience without pressure,
Roots seek their way,
Trusting what’s happening beneath the surface,
Where the seeds know without trying.
What grows in the dark
Is not just survival,
But a vibrant blossoming.
The poem speaks to a feeling we all experience: standing before what's accumulated, wanting to sort, judge, and sweep it all away. But dust and soil are kin. One is nuisance; the other, nourishment. The real difference isn’t in what they are, but in whether we're willing to trust the breaking down..
Healing is about something different from fixing. It doesn’t ask us to sort through our mess and decide what to keep or throw away. Instead, it encourages us to trust what happens when we stop trying to control everything and simply allow.Like soil that regenerates not through intervention but through patient decomposition, we don’t need to be rebuilt. We just need to remember that we're already whole, already becoming.
