Most people tend to their ground to make it more fertile. They add compost and fertilizers. They plant crops. They till the ground, and they reap what they sow.
There is a season for everything under the sun. And it is good.
But what happens when a ground has been stripped bare, like dirty sheets pulled from an old mattress? What remains of the life that this space once germinated? What can grow in this stony ground?
Many a man has walked across such ground. But few have been brave enough—or foolish enough—to reap from the spoils. Those who do, see in this stony ground the same as what they see in their own hearts. Grief. Futility. Madness.
They don’t realize what we know all too well: Sometimes death is better.
“The soil of a man’s heart is stonier, Louis. A man grows what he can, and he tends it. ‘Cause what you buy, is what you own. And what you own… always comes home to you.”
