Ode to the worms

It's been five years since my first time at Embercombe, and I had no idea that this mosaic existed until a previous community member uncovered it last summer. It was a delightful surprise.

Time passed, the person moved on, and the grass started to grow again. Much has changed since that time at Embercombe. However, one thing remains constant - our Wednesday morning circles. Someone pointed out how people come and go, and their imprints start to disappear if we don't do something about it.

I had the calling which I followed.

The first time, I was joyful and blissful, and as the sun warmed my face, I wholeheartedly started weeding the grass. I did some work. Then, I began periodically weeding it. Then there were difficult days when I wanted to put my hand under the soil as I offered my grief, my pain, my dreams, my frustration, and my heart to it. 

For me, this became a significant metaphor.

It was a ceremony to honour what's here and to remember what's gone.

As I weeded away, I noticed how easy it was to pull out some of the grass. Smooth.

I observed how challenging others were. Some of them were deeply rooted, and some were hidden under very heavy stones. Sometimes, even though they had long and deep roots, they could be removed with some effort. Then there were the stubborn weeds, like those pesky docks. They were a nightmare. You'd think you were almost at the root, and they'd break. I managed to clear some, while others I had to give up on and put the stones back, knowing they'd resurface.

And then there were the worms, casualties of the process. I tried to save some, but it was too late for others. I acknowledged that some things will die, and it's inevitable.

I've been contemplating about relationships a lot including the one with myself, and working on the hearth felt like a good metaphor.

• Things that are easily addressed and smoothed over.
• Things that are difficult and require a lot of effort and determination but there’s a good chance they can be overcome.
• Things that are so deeply rooted that, even though they aren't on the surface at the moment, they will resurface one day.
• And then there are some things that will never come back - things that have died.

I stood there with many feelings and questions. Would I ever do this again with the knowing that next time I will kill more worms, therefore more me?

Farewell worms.