This week I felt a new feeling, and I don't even know the word for it.  

It's something like awe, joy, speechlessness, amazement, thankfulness, and gratitude all rolled into one.  

And actually, this feeling stemmed out of an experience people have been having for millennia.  I'm embarrassed and humbled to admit my naivete.  

Last Saturday I planted my first seeds.  And yesterday, they sprouted.  I know, it's not such a big deal, but for me - it is.  It is like a whole other part of my heart and mind sprouted open right along with those tiny seeds.  It's odd; I think I never really fully absorbed the process of how food grows.  

Watching these little seeds start to grow is a profoundly spiritual experience for me.  

Sprouting seeds seem to be the physical embodiment of hope and possibility.  Hopefully I'm not the first person in history to cry tears of joy over such a sight, but if I am, so be it.  

Sometimes I just get so caught up in the wonder of it all.  

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