Garden as Metaphor, Returning

Looking for petals...

I am trying to become the whole daisy, to define, identify and hunt for a few, key missing petals. We are primarily addressing here the under-developed part of me which fears much and gets easily overwhelmed.  She has been trying to get this work done simultaneously with scrambling to have her painful parts assuaged with the attention of valiant warriors already assigned to other fair maidens or whose quests take them far afield, rendering them unsuitable companions. This has proven to be counter-productive and has served only to reinforce negative expectations and beliefs while preventing her from getting her own work done for her own quest. We need to neutralize this layer in order for her to have clear space to do the necessary untangling, re-focusing, training, and execution necessary for the journey ahead.

This struggle requires more resource than I have been able to extract from this dimension, so we are crossing over.

I have stepped inside a rounded, walled garden which is guarded by my soul’s architect. I didn’t make deals or grand sweeping promises for entry. I just knocked on the gate and asked to be let in. I don’t expect an audience—there’s nothing I have to say that would surprise him. I don’t want to talk—I want to be alone to grieve. I have no interest in gardening. I simply have hurting and wounded parts, and I need protection. As soon as I walk through the gate to this protected place, the tears start to fall.

I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes, and I sob. I cry for what I want and don’t have, for what I have and don’t like, for what can never be, for what I’m afraid might never be, for dreams I don’t know how to infuse with life, for brokenness, for time that cannot be reclaimed. I sob because I’m kind of afraid I’ll never stop sobbing. The tears and the reasons for them can’t be neatly decoded–it’s all just a pool of snot and grief that wets my smock.

Eventually the keening lessens and taking a big sigh, I just feel peaceful. Spent, puffy-eyed, but peaceful. It feels good.

My back is completely exposed as I face this wall and blubber, yet I feel safe. Ensconced. This wall surrounds and encompasses me, and it creates a place of refuge for me which is exactly what I need right now. It stretches around behind me and marks off a safe, peaceful, open patch of ground I will eventually want to investigate. He’s done a nice job with the garden there. Before I slip back to the ‘real’ world, I breathe deeply and anchor how I feel in this moment. This wall symbolizes the ever-ready arms of the lover of my soul who can handle my tears and still be strong and present for me. Believe in me. Behind me the sun on my back warms me and reminds me to take the time to come back to this place more often. I get grounded on this.

I’m struggling to get clarity on what needs to be clear with all this noise in my head and heart. I am having a helluva time functioning without the clarity. And I need to be able to function to survive. This need to survive and this need to do some deep soul healing—find those missing petals—can’t help but compete for my attention, as they are equally critical to me. With this garden, I have found a catalyst for healing. I thank him for granting me entry; I’m glad I finally thought to ask. A ‘place’ to draw strength and grounding from so I can continue my hard solitary work here, knowing that I am not alone.



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