“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest…shall not cease.”
I’m sitting on my imaginary front porch swing and looking out over the fields. All I can see between me and the horizon is dry ground and the occasional dust devil. It makes me sad to see nothing growing. I hoped for fields white with cotton. It’s a beautiful sight. I chose cotton because I like that old cliché about “walking in tall cotton”. It just smacks of success and dreams coming true.
Alas, no cotton—just bare dirt as far as my eye can see.
There are many possible reasons my fields are barren. Cotton is a micro-aggressive racist crop unacceptable in modern society. My cotton has chosen to identify as dirt. Like in that parable, birds came and snatched it up before it grew. Or maybe the cotton is there, and I just need a positive vibe to see it. My chakra or aura might need cleansing to stimulate its growth. All those are viable possibilities.
They are also all lies, self-delusionary balms for my disappointment. There is no cotton growing because I did not plant it. Oh, I have the seed—plenty of seed. I have water to irrigate, and climate change hasn’t made it too hot to plant. I even have a hoe should weeds come up. I just never took the time to sow the seed. Having sown nothing, I have reaped my just reward.
Do I deserve a carpet of green and decked white with cotton? I think so. I spent a long time getting all that seed into my barn. Should people be stopping by to take pictures of a successful farmer sitting on his porch admiring his crop? Of course, they should. Darn it, I deserve recognition!
That doesn’t matter. You reap what you sow. It's not just a good idea, it’s the law of science, theology, and philosophy. The principle is embraced by all but the pathological, modern politicians, and a great number of writers.
Granted to some writers a finished book or manuscript is the crop. Just getting it written was the goal and they have reaped their reward. However, there are a great number of writers who want people to read their book—some want everybody to read their book. For those writers, the book is just the seed and until it is sown, no crop of readers will grow.