My Name is Mud

Mud is an art. The vibration of the soil as it’s forced through the water is something that stirs you inside. It combines with your own vibrations, so you’re actually working together. It starts in the palm of your hand, and travels to the outside of your fingers and up your arms and shoulders, and spreads throughout you, like love. It loves you, just like everything else you can touch. Even if it stings. That’s just that thing’s way of loving you. If it refuses to touch you, then it’s just afraid of you. You can’t be afraid to touch it, first. Some people are just like mud is, most of the time; still and waiting for you to touch them. To pick them up and mold them into something you can use, or just touch them for the sensation of joining to them. Maybe they think they feel like mud, because they’re sad, or feeling worthless. But if they’d only realize that mud is the basic foundation of so many things, they would see themselves differently. Maybe their idea of mud is all wrong.