I think Thoreau was right when he implied
That if you want to live deliberately
you better go to the woods.

We better go to the woods!
or perhaps out to some desert, or garden
maybe not entirely unlike Gesthemane -
in order to bury our willful straying self in silent soil
under leaves of repentance

held deep, in dark earth, but also the arms of Christ’s everlasting forgiveness.
We need to bury our tears there that are falling
heavily to the ground, full with the weight of this world’s pain,
ours and others’ we were never meant to be separate from.
The salt will dissolve in the ground and spread out to the roots of plants
Seasoning their juices, readying for life to come balm for the journey:

recollection of those before who battled will and tears
in aching hope reaching for rest and light,
who are gone, but in joy, us and others await.

We also need to bury there our fears that freeze us.
Kneeling down to the power greater than ourselves
which is burning, like the sun, with the warmth of such love
that alone can (and wills to) thaw us.
And once we are all buried we’ll lose the emptiness that clung to us
And come back, return home more ourselves than when we left.