I had a philosophical raspberry moment the other night –
You repeat this, going around and around the bushes, until you can’t see any more red. But then, you go back to the beginning, and look one more time, to be sure (because you don’t want them to get so ripe they plop off onto the ground – because really, they’re just gone then) – and you notice a few more that you missed.
You repeat this every day, and your knees actually get sore with bending, and your ankles kind of hurt, and the hand where you hold your raspberry bowl gets cramped, and you get a funny twitch in your raspberry-picking hand, but you gather steam, day by day in the raspberry season, brief but oh-so-delicious, until it is second nature to turn the leaves this way and that, snatch every yummy crimson gem.
This metaphor can speak to a person of many things. Today, it speaks to me of revealed truth. Truth is not always comfortable, or comforting – something it pricks the fingers, or the conscience? It stretches our minds, or our hearts (or ankles, or knees). But we can see it – maybe its in the shadow of a leaf, but we know it is there – we can almost reach out and touch it – but not quite. It requires us to reach for it – to keep our eyes ever on it, even as we push or pull obstacles out of the way. It exists, it is sweet.