The Day After Easter

When the feast is over, what do we do with the leftovers? It seems strange, but I find a fierce eternal Easter in the compost. Be not offended. The spoilage of the stinking past becomes a new rose, springing from the ceaseless regeneration of Christ's loam body. In the Risen Lord of the Compost Pile, our own bones will surely participate.

Wonder is the way down, the way into the color brown, where we get an audience with Grandfather Earthworm, a darshan for moles. Don't let your spiritual teacher turn it into a practice - The Wonder Technique. Wonder won't take you higher, it will bring you Om. Walk barefoot in your own back yard. Hear the song of clover, tree frog, cocoon. Listen to the Ground.

Grandfather Earthworm says, "The way up is the way down. Why do you feel the need to get higher? Gravity is prayer. Feel the pull of things that fall, the seeds, the creatures that decompose into dark energy. Black is the color of silence, the food of eternal night. Only from this darkness is fire born."

Grandfather Earthworm says, "Wonder is not a morning and evening practice. It is not a practice at all. You can't do wonder. It does you. Descend into Sheol, where morning is evening, and shadows are wings."

Grandfather Earthworm says, "The miracle bubbles out of itself, fermented by fungal opposites. Gratitude is not a guided meditation, but a burp."

Grandfather Earthworm says, "Time doesn't count underground, where 15 minutes last a thousand years, and a thousand years is a burst of puffball spores. Mix spider silk and baneberry root with midnight rain to make a soothing poultice for the wound of your impermanence.”

Grandfather Earthworm says, "Get down. Compost your heart. Eat yesterday salad, leaf mold, mulled wine of resurrection lettuce. Now that your tummy is filled with a breath of wonder, you're too dumb to count to ten. Just count to one."

Image from a CNN feature on compost art.