Rain

The rain let down in moving sheets of liquid ribbons
and the garden shivered with delight.
The plants lifted upward their cupping leaves and flowers
forming vessels of collected water droplets.
Their roots moved in musical rhythm
searching deeper the anticipated swelling of the wet earth.
And as if by a mystical transformation, they grew and expanded in time and space,
becoming brighter, stronger and more alive.

Collected Oneness

We are not flat nor our lives a collection of linear stages to be checked off. It is a blind bending of knowing to see otherwise. We must feel it first to see, opening our inner eyes of sensing like a child of wonder. Look.... what do you see?

 
Roses of differing stages of a life cycle? The crisp bright pinkness of newness next to the brown wilted flower of old? And all of that which is the "in-between"? Or do you see it as a oneness? Existing together in a single moment with multiple dimensions in a circular movement, coming forth from a single stem connected to a rosebush with many other branches, many other roses?

Look.....what do you see?

Dappled Light

It's mid-September and some of the most glorious days in the garden. The earth has tilted some. The morning sun barely peeks out from the top of the trees, skirting along throwing dappled light upon my garden that moves over me in shadowed patches as a breeze comes through now and then. The dappled light dances upon the stone pathways, and as I sit on the warm stone it feels as if I have been integrated into an Impressionist painting. The boundaries of stone, earth, light, plants, and air melt and my body feels warm and blanketed with a deep sense of peace and belonging.

Sorting it Out

I have so often told my friends and family that it takes time to adjust to change. Usually two months on average maybe longer. Why then do I feel the urgent need to "be okay" now. Why do I not heed my own advice?  Do I think I'm some super human exempt from time and its constraints? I have less control than I would like to think. It takes time to sort things out. You have to give yourself that time.

I had brushed up along the path the mulch from the bed that had accumulated over time, washed down by rains and wind. Along with the pile of mulch came some stones mixing into the pile, some not quite so obviously seen. Certainly I would be foolish to just pick up the pile and toss it. After all the stones belonged in the path, they were part of it that needed to be kept there. And so I began to sort through the pile of mulch/stone, picking carefully the stones that belonged and placing them in the path from where they came. The stones that I would keep, the items that made sense, that I enjoyed being around and with, that were still part of the original deeper belonging. And the mulch that is left will be thrown back onto the bed from which it came.

swatting at anger

I had felt an anger rising up inside me these past few days. I listened to my friends tell me that my job loss was a blessing in disguise. There were no hard feelings right? I hadn't done anything wrong after all and from their perspective, the "she'll be just fine",  just wasn't cutting it for me. I told myself this was true and repeated it like a mantra, a blessing in disguise, an opportunity. I shouldn't be angry, I'm above that. Surely I'm capable of seeing the big picture, the wisdom of what will come, living in the moment. But living in the moment doesn't mean not acknowledging all the emotion that you feel at the time. I tried to suppress and push aside this gnawing feeling of discontentment but it was not to let me be. I started having issues with getting to sleep. My mind just wouldn't shut off and images of work life kept pecking at my need of a peaceful slumber. Even when I would fall asleep, I dreamt of people, situations from work, and would only wake up feeling more and more restless and pissed off. 

Well, I'm mad as hell. My security blanket was taken away and my life was disrupted and I feel a lot of things and anger is one. 

After talking to my sister this morning, I was able to say to myself, yes I'm angry and that's okay, be angry, feel it, be it. Now go into your garden and pull weeds. Pulling weeds helps, it's a kind of therapy, get mad at the weeds. Pull, yank, twist, cut, out they come. Some easier than others. But I felt good, filling up the trash bin time after time, throwing away, cleaning out the negative voices in my head. 

It was insanely humid and hot and the buzzing flying things kept circling my head and body. Under the burning sun, as beads of sweat formed and began loosening their grip dripping down my skinI, the annoying flying things became worse.  I kept swatting them away, wished they would leave me alone, they were interrupting me and interfering in my cleaning up task. Finally, I realized that they were not going to go away. I acknowledged that they were there and that the humidity was getting to both of us. Okay, so we're both angry today.  And so I gathered up my gardening tools and sought shelter on the shaded porch appreciating the breeze that moved across my sweating brow. 

A Hidden Wonder

The oregano in full bloom had blossomed from a small plant to encompass area of over 4 feet in length by 2 feet deep. It was beyond trimming, running over the old stone border hiding even a hint of a boundary. I decided to dig it up entirely, to start over. But there was no beginning, no end point. I just delved in, pulling up the plant, roots that had woven itself into a labyrinth of an intricate system of interwoven tenacles, firmly implanted into the earth. The muscles in my arms ached as I pulled splattering the earth up into the air unearthing the worms that seemed to strive in this environment. As I pulled, piece by piece, section upon section, I carried the arm full of fragrant oregano to the pile beneath the pine tree. There I added to the mound of freshly displaced oregano, a pile that grew exceedingly larger by the minute. A burial mound of no longer connected oregano to dry beneath the summer sun. Walking back to the garden, I noticed a Toad on the ground near the remaining small patch of oregano. At first glance, I thought I had left a toad ornament from years ago, but no, in the next second I realized it was a real living toad sitting perfectly still. Was it alive? It wasn't moving. I knelt down, my knees on bare stone, I crouched over, my hands inches away from this beautiful creature. I looked closely at the toad. I could see that it was deftly camouflaged, the coloring so close to the mulch and bare earth, I was surprised I had not stepped on it. I saw the sides of the toad's body expanding in and out. Alive! It was breathing. Good, I hadn't hurt it or killed it for that matter. I moved my face closer and looked directly into its eyes rimmed with the most beautiful yellow color. I was amazed and in awe. I wanted to touch it but was afraid I would scare it even more and it would leave me. You are in shock I thought, displaced, suddenly uprooted. You are me. I am you. I was aware of my breathing, almost in sync with that of the toad's. I had no sense of time or space, month or year. Only being with the toad. My hands were on the ground, its ground that was its home and I had disturbed it without meaning. I felt bad for the poor toad, a little sad at first but then just a calm sense of being. I knew that I would stay with the toad until it moved away. It would settle for now, gain its strength and groundedness, get its bearings and move to shelter when its ready. I am the toad. Time left us, the sun's heat filtered away and the garden slipped into a backdrop. I stayed gazing in wonder at the toad until it finally lept forward to take shelter in the remaining patch of oregano.

What a climbing rose knows

The climbing rose bush had taken over, flourished uncontrollably running up into the nearby blue spruce, climbing down as like a curtain to hide the blueberry bushes. I approached cleaning and sprucing up this area with much trepidation. It was hard to decide where to start. I spent a couple days studying it, trying to figure out where the rose bush ended and the blueberry bushes started. I fretted that I would hurt it, trim too much, not trim enough. And let's not forget the "claws" that would no doubt scratch, tear and wound, perhaps even ensnaring me into a stuck predicament. 

Funny how fear freezes us. Fear of the unknown things that lurk somewhere out there in the future, cautious imaginings of long-held beliefs and unsubstantiated what ifs. 

Best to start somewhere, just begin. As I pruned and sculpted I eventually revealed the still living blueberry bushes which there were three, standing proudly.  Pruning away the deadwood. Things we no longer need. Push aside the curtain of doubt and reveal the inner steadfast strengths that we had forgotten. Pull up the weeds that threatened to choke the rose bush and blueberry bushes, all of it must go. 

It is good to learn life lessons from the rose bush. One thing is that after it is trimmed, there will be many new canes that will push out from the main stalk. And the other is its thorns, "claws" as mentioned in The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, that can snag at your clothes and skin. Our first reaction is to pull away, which of course only makes matters worse as it fixes deeper the sharp hooked thorn. But If you stop just long enough to slow down and gently lean into the rose bush, there will be a natural release and the thorn will let loose its grip.

“What makes the desert beautiful,' said the little prince, 'is that somewhere it hides a well...” 

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince