Making Messes & writing poems about them

Things I Used To Do Again

When I was a kid, I measured fun mostly by how messy it was. The more mess, the more fun. I fondly remember jumping in mud puddles and filling the backyard sandbox with the neighbor’s hose to make a swimming pool. I can still smell the dandelion stew we made in big pots by adding flowers, weeds, berries, ketchup, mustard, and peanut butter to rain water.

As I grew older I accepted the idea that messy wasn’t actually fun, but rather childish and irresponsible, and simply a chore that had to be cleaned up later. Making messes was to be avoided and something to apologize for.

Last week I had the honor of co-leading a Celebration of Life service for one of the most incredible people to ever live. And at the end of the service everyone traveled from the church sanctuary to the memorial garden, where we interred her ashes. Nearing the end of the time, I looked around to see smiling faces and dirty hands as the young great-granddaughter of the guest of honor was shaking the last of the ashes out of the container and onto a beautifully lush green bush. I said, “sometimes the messiest work is also the holiest.”

Listening to my own words, following the service I went to Belle Isle, one of my favorite places in Detroit to make some mess. I landed on a little patch of muddy grass near the water. I took a seat and just ran my hands through the dirt. And then dipped them in the river. And then played with some rocks. And then dug a small hole. And then these words started to pour from my soul.

Blessed are the Gardens
©Rebecca Wilson, May 2024

blessed are the life bearers
Eve, Lilith and Naamah, and all their daughters
for theirs is the soil of earth, the garden of our birth

blessed are the birds bearing olive branches
guiding us from the waters of the womb
leading us home when the flooding begins to retreat
for they know the way to peace

blessed are the laboring hands sowing and scattering seeds
that know sand, silt and clay, and understand that even rocks can produce
for they are the dreamers of revolutionary dreams

blessed are the hearts that are greener than any thumbs
that plant flowers and trees alike
offering sustenance to humanity, to the birds and the bees
enhancing the beauty we all long to see
for they are makers of miracles

blessed are the patient farmers who teach their crafts
who share their rakes, shovels and plows
their knowledge of sun and light, and night
and what thrives in the shade
for they are cultivating the future

blessed are the gardens encompassed by hundreds of acres
and those nestled in small corner city lots
where deer and fox, and the unhoused and the uninvited find welcome and rest
for they know and believe in the power of belonging

blessed are the gardeners who make soul filling meals from the harvest
who gently remind us that today’s plate holds all we need
that neither yesterday nor tomorrow should cause us angst or worry
for they are the embodiment of here and now, the now and not yet

blessed are the feet that stand still
and walk bare in awe and gratitude for this ground
who stop to play in puddles and make mud
and dance in the rain
and bake cakes from the dirt and decorate them with stones
for they know that what is holy is also messy
that broken things can be mended if we simply tend to them

blessed are the warm smiles of creation’s protectors and advocates
who care for air and land and sea with the same tenderness
extended to blisters and callouses
who know that the tree of life is eternal and regenerating
and holds the roots of our calling
for they have spent generations pruning them

blessed are we who gather in this garden to commit the ashes of a life lived so wondrously well
leaving a legacy ripe with laughter and joy
modeling how to experience grief and loss
disappointment and pain without being overcome by it
blooming with hospitality and justice
exuding mercy and love
fresh fruit, un-wilted vines, abundant yieldings
for they show us how to be and when to rest

eternally blessed is she who tended this place with such humility and grace
just one plot in a universal garden
for she knows we all need safe tranquil space for living and dying
loving and trying
learning and yearning
for hoping and for healing

blessed are we all and all of creation
when we hunger for hope
and open to heal

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Since the release of Unraveling: Coming Out and Back Together, we have been writing here about becoming, which we experience as the gift of unraveling. Things I Used To Do Again is about our becoming board, also known as a bucket list. We have several more things to do again and to share.

Many of you have shared with us about things you used to do that you are trying again or thinking about wanting to try again. We appreciate your sharing. And send good vibes for everyone working on becoming. It is beautiful, fun, and a bit messy.

Thank you for being part of Wednesdays at the Well. You’re also invited to head over to our newly designed website 10camels.com to learn more about our passion for turning words into water and more ways to connect with our work.

Water-fully, Rebecca & 10 Camels