I am currently reading Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. It is a book on writing. What can I say? I adore this genre. I find comfort in a well written sentence and often think to myself, "This author and I would get along splendidly." But rules and writing style aside, what I love most about writing books is I often find them highly metaphorical for life.

Case in point:

I happened to read a chapter yesterday titled "Composting." Goldberg asserts that we are all like garbage heaps, and our senses and experiences are similar to compost piles. In life, we collect the good, the bad, and the ugly. Only after our body and consciousness sift through this pile, throwing out what we don't need and absorbing the rest, do we create the rich, fertile soil that is capable of producing a breathtaking garden. And if you have ever used compost, you know it takes time for the nutrients to break down and assimilate…kind of like perspective, right? So…

Life is like a compost pile. You take it all in because remaining open to life is the only way to live. And as our soil becomes fertile, we bloom into who we are meant to be. Goldberg adds that "understanding this also helps us to accept someone else's success and not to be greedy…it is simply that person's time…and ours will come…no matter."

Patience, my friends, for there is tremendous possibility within all of us as we continuously turn over the details of our lives, enriching our soil, and preparing for our own masterpieces.