The Faux Pas Press #54

The Faux Pas Press #54

By Jason Fresh

I have seen the plow break fertile ground like a mother raising her hand to striking an infant – fresh, new, nutritious, almost edible ground. And like the infant, feeling the brashness of a young woman, a young mother discarded by an alpha male and sent to stave off the others in a State of Hawaii welfare line, the fertile ground waits for us to plant our seeds in it. And like the infant, free of guile and tradition, the Earth will give to those who honor it. The infant will begin learning much like the Earth has learnt. “Who will honor me? To whom is fortune due?”

I have been taught. Been taught by the worst of the best – also been taught by the best of the worst. And one thing (I would say ‘teaching’ if I still believed in those), one profound ‘thing’ that I’ve learnt is that the fertile ground will not lie, it will not cheat, it will not steal from you. It spits truth syrup forth from maple trees, it protrudes odors from the Earth’s layers, and it will give back to you what you put in to it. Whether you aim to emulate the valley and let all things flow to you or long to become the mountain, the Earth will show who is honored. One more thing about the fertile soil – it not only gives what you put in - it could potentially give you food for a thousand years.

Place seeds in those you love or desire. Water them. Nurture them. Then just fucking watch as fruit trees break the fertile ground on a human chest, bringing forth fruit to feed you for the rest of your days. The infant that you mistreat today might very well be the “hand that feeds you”. Careful.