The most unexpected new things grow out of fertiliser. Here is an ancient invitation to love the struggle of life, the sorrow, the confusion, the doubt, even the despair of it. Love the impermanence of it all, love it all to death, its unpredictability, its uncontrollability, its unmanageable quality and mysterious nature. Life was never supposed to be 100% smooth. What would be the fun in the ride? Love the bumps. Love the total absence of any answers that satisfy. Love your own inability to love sometimes. These are never any mistakes here in this place we call reality, and nothing is thrown at you except rich and nutrient-dense fertiliser, which may smell bad at first, and you may be tempted to run away, but its smell contains a secret: it will lovingly help new things grow, if you give it a chance and stop assuming it is divided from the supreme intelligence of life itself, the One intelligence that births solar systems and tiny birds in springtime. The smell of shit is the smell of life not death, and does not indicate your terrible failure. We’ve just forgotten how to smell, that’s all.
You’ve become too civilized, friend. Curiosity is not impolite. Turn towards the struggle. Inhale the moment deeply. Learn to smell your own shit again.
I never thought I’d say that in public