You can sort of see the two nascent leaves that have formed, but these pictures do not do the cute little basil justice. The picture portrays a simplistic light green blob, while what I am seeing is much more dynamic and complex. Amidst a sea of thick brown, a tiny, but bold seedling has asserted its presence. On two miniscule leaves that look like tongues, flecks of soil desperately cling to what once belonged entirely to its subterranean realm. It is almost as if the soil thinks it can persuade--or force--the seedling to submerge itself back into the faux-ground. Ignoring the groping pleas of the soil, the seedling presses on, eager to be equally present in the subterranean and tropospheric domains, fully existing in and of the earth. In a singular determination--and perhaps one I can gain inspiration from--the seedling carries on with its journey despite whispers of distraction, uncertainty, and naysayers.
Through my observation of and subsequent reflection on the silent, yet lively interaction between soil and seedling, I am reminded of Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey. In the final destination of the journey, the hero has mastered existence in the ordinary (subterranean) and special (tropospheric) worlds. Of course, the seedling still remains a part of the "ordinary" world--indeed quite literally rooted in it--but as it is just beginning to emerge into the troposphere, it will have to learn to live in this "special" world as well. This has human spiritual development implications. The soil is equivalent to our mundane lives, and the troposphere (even though we are very much a part of it) can be conceptualized as equivalent to the spiritual realm. How do we gain a higher level of consciousness and remain grounded? How do we shoot through layers of the mundane without propelling ourselves with such a great force that we uproot ourselves, irrevocably cutting ourselves off from our life source?
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