May What I Take Grow Back Again
O Earth, whatever I dig from you, may it soon grow again. May I never wound your heart, your vital center.
When I take something, do I also consider the place where it must be replenished?
📝Reflection
It is striking that such ecological sensitivity existed three thousand years ago — 'may what I dig grow again, may I not wound your heart.' Even as the poet takes from the earth, he weighs the place where it must recover. To take yet not touch the vital center; to use yet only as much as can regrow. I want to apply this wisdom not to land alone but to relationships, body, and mind. A person's goodwill, one's own strength, are not infinite. Used up entirely, they cannot regrow. Everything that lasts leaves a margin to be refilled in proportion to what was taken.
🌱Apply It Today
When you draw on someone's goodwill or your own energy today, do not scrape the bottom — leave a margin to be refilled.
This verse is read as universal humanistic wisdom, not religion — no faith is promoted, and the reflection is 100% original ONGO content.
