I’m still like a young boy who always played with the same life’s toys. My pockets were always filled with the dormant seeds, and during the dark, deep nights my dreams were consumed with thoughts of them. My short days were preoccupied with planting of my various color and shape of seeds. My days and nights were long, as I prayed and waited impatiently for my planted seeds to sprout. There was an occurrence when a few of my seeds died, but most of them sprouted, as it was my hope and theirs that from a tiny seed a small spruce would grow. From these same small spruces, plants and big trees grew of various sizes, colors and shapes. Some bore fruits and some didn’t. All beautiful trees grew and they continue growing. God, I  am so proud, how sweet and beautiful IT is, AND  how beautiful this life is.

I was a little child and I still am. I collected seeds with my heart and mind, and I still do. I didn’t only learn how to plant seeds, but more importantly, I learned where to plant them. It is very important to know where and how to plant life, and help life. I planted seeds and I transplanted plants, and each time I did this, I broke the truth. I broke one of the most important main roots of the plant, the life’s anchoring root. The plants spoke to me as did the truth, human beings, the animals, the birds and all of nature, and they told me, “Let us remain how and where we were planted. Don’t break our roots. Don’t allow truth and our lives to suffer.” God, I was only a little boy then, too young to know why THE TRUTH, and why the question, WHY is wasting our lifetime. TRUTH is often disregarded and omitted. I promised my seeds and “my truth” that their roots would stay where I planted them, and that I would never touch or transplant them, again.

Today, I write and play with the same kind of toys, life’s toys, and I am once again planting my dormant seeds, my written words, and waiting, as I once waited, for nature’s truth to sprout. I am who I was, a little boy. I made a promise to my seeds that I would never again touch their roots.
 
I’m a writer, and nothing more, or less, than a farmer. My words are my seeds. I plant them only once. If they die, they will die in silence and peace as truth. If they sprout, they will sprout as truth. I believe, and I believe what I believe, but whoever you are, God doesn’t love me more than you. If you wish, and however you wish, you may plant your seeds, your words, next to mine. Be patient. Please, let them sprout and let their plants grow. The plants and the time will speak for me and you.

Just let them grow!