Come forth into the light of things and let Nature be your teacher.

I've been clearing my yard of blackberry brambles for the past week or so. It's slow work, and inevitably I find my thoughts wandering and rambling in a manner similar to the vines I so fiercely battle. Much like we primates have evolved to recognize faces in what in the early stages of life appear to be little more than blurry shapes, I began to see symbolism in the tangled vines.

Weighed down by sadness and regret and fear and deep loneliness this past year, I neglected what was truly important until I became utterly overwhelmed by this tangled, malevolent, grasping mass of troubles and worries. The more I ignored it, the bigger it got, growing more and more powerful every day. Its tendrils found each and every weak spot, winding deep into the cracks, twisting tighter and tighter, pulling down defenses and creating hidden sunless places where dark things could take root and flourish.

I could see it taking over, burying more and more of what I had worked so hard to achieve, but it just seemed too big an obstacle for someone like me to overcome. Not today, probably not tomorrow. And not without help. I just wasn't strong enough.

And then, one day....I was. I got up off the couch and found that I wanted to wield tools, flex my muscles, labor in the sun, and fight for this life I love.

The task is daunting, and even now it seems endless. I pay for my progress with blood and sweat -- and yes, some tears here and there. But I can feel myself growing stronger with every vine I vanquish, and each measly inch is a victory that is mine and mine alone. I put my anxiety and fear and anger to good use -- I make it work for me. I use it to change my life for the better, to make things the way I want them to be.

The thorns scratch and tear at my skin, but at the end of each day I examine each and every wound and marvel at how much punishment I can bear -- and most importantly, none of these wounds is fatal. I am battle-weary. My arms burn and shake, and my muscles are weak with fatigue. I use my eyebrow tweezers to extract embedded thorns from my flesh. And I am so aware of how every single sore spot says I'm alive. I'm alive and I can feel --  the pain, the joy, the triumph, all of it. I am the only one who can do this work. It is mine.

Life is cruel and painful and confusing and frustrating and seems futile at times, and it hurts you no matter how careful you are, no matter how you try to protect yourself. But it is also green and bountiful and beautiful -- and even if it at times seems to serve no purpose that makes a single bit of sense to you and causes you nothing but bitter, stinging pain and endless tears....

If you are patient, it bears fruit.