Whatever gets in the way
of the connection to
our own soul
may need
to go.
~ THE WIND ONE BRILLIANT DAY ~
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
“In return for this jasmine odor,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.”
“I have no roses; I have no flowers left now
in my garden… all are dead.”
“Then, I’ll take the waters of the fountains,
and the yellow leaves and the dried-up petals."
The wind left… I wept. I said to myself:
“What have you done with the garden entrusted to you?”
by Antonio Machado (Robert Bly Translation)
Suddenly, this poem feels all too real. Standing on my porch, this morning--I heard my soul say the words out loud, at last:
The garden, entrusted to me, is DEAD.
With deep heart-sorrow, I can no longer remain silent about what is happening. Dry, yellow weeds have replaced the lush lawn, and the verdant foliage. It was once a wonderland, inhabited by Life and Love. Now, this Entrusted Garden (of house and grounds), feels like a Wasteland.
When we moved here 20 years ago--a hopeful young family of three--we were thrilled to find this lovely home 'For Sale' in the mountains. It would be our first home that wasn't a rental. Our son liked living on a dead-end street, with hiking trails that led up into the 'sand hills' (a very special ecosystem that once lay at the bottom of the ocean--back before some radical tectonic plate activity!).
Now our son is a grown man; his father is planning to retire soon, and I have been retired for nearly a year now. Where did the time go? Somehow, there was never enough time 'left over' to tend to the Garden.
The yards, the infrastructure of house and decking, and the dynamic of interrelatedness itself--have all deteriorated. I've lived too long with my head in the sand and now its time to reckon with Reality.
Over the busy years of working, homeschooling our young son, then seeing him through high school and college, the fabric of Life--like any comfortable, old T-shirt, got ragged around the edges. Remaining sparks of old dreams, flickered out. Eventually, 'The Parents' had very little in common with each other. Our personal interests had diverged--but the one thing that the 3 of us have always done well together, is FAMILY!
The luster of dreams can so easily be swallowed up by tedious tasks, and inevitable misunderstandings. Struggling through a 35 year marriage, my husband and I tried various approaches. Being good friends who lived separately from time to time, seemed to work best for us, however financial need, keeps conspiring to bring us back under the same roof, in this house, that we are still 'mortgaged to'.
Our son lived on his own, after studying film in college. He and his roomates networked to share jobs and contacts for work in their field, until the ecomony collapsed and the free-lance job market dried up. Finally, he ended up back home, too--a camera man for local TV news, doing a scaled down version of the film work he studied for. Each one of us has our own separate living area, within the house. This way, we manage to coexist pretty well, while sharing a common space. I often hear of others, who are doing the same sort of thing now-a-days.
The luster of dreams can so easily be swallowed up by tedious tasks, and inevitable misunderstandings. Struggling through a 35 year marriage, my husband and I tried various approaches. Being good friends who lived separately from time to time, seemed to work best for us, however financial need, keeps conspiring to bring us back under the same roof, in this house, that we are still 'mortgaged to'.
Our son lived on his own, after studying film in college. He and his roomates networked to share jobs and contacts for work in their field, until the ecomony collapsed and the free-lance job market dried up. Finally, he ended up back home, too--a camera man for local TV news, doing a scaled down version of the film work he studied for. Each one of us has our own separate living area, within the house. This way, we manage to coexist pretty well, while sharing a common space. I often hear of others, who are doing the same sort of thing now-a-days.
You
must be willing to give up
the smallness of your story
for the vastness of your
true essence.
Every moment you have a choice
Debbie Ford
~ ~ ~
An inner fountain flows at the heart of every growing thing, but when we ignore these living waters, and fail to tap into their bounty--then Life itself, tatters at the edges.
It's easy to lose heart, when our 'outer world' dis-integrates and transforms into something different. We can choose to shift with the energy, or resist it. It's not always easy. But, I find that shifting with change, does open new options. Time and circumstance have their own ideas. I have done my share of arguing with Life; lamenting outcomes, and resisting the pain that disappointment can bring.
I notice, however, that whenever I acknowledge pain, and meet it--rather than resisting--something softens. It becomes much easier to embrace disappointment, and open up to Life's Adventure. Doing so, presents the perpetual mystery of The Great Unknown!
Machado wrote this poem about Wind and Gardens, from a state of deep grief, upon the death of his new bride at the tender age of 18, from Tuberculosis. Bly points out that Machado's poem "...starts with his personal garden (small "g"), but at the end, he's speaking to his soul about a greater Spiritual Garden (capital "G")."
There is a sense of stability I live by, which is always seeking to follow the river's course. My world is rich with natural wonders right outside our doorstep, a broad circle of fantastic friends whose own unique worlds overlap with mine, and a dynamic community of kindred spirits, whose vibrant energy brings precious joy.
It's easy to lose heart, when our 'outer world' dis-integrates and transforms into something different. We can choose to shift with the energy, or resist it. It's not always easy. But, I find that shifting with change, does open new options. Time and circumstance have their own ideas. I have done my share of arguing with Life; lamenting outcomes, and resisting the pain that disappointment can bring.
I notice, however, that whenever I acknowledge pain, and meet it--rather than resisting--something softens. It becomes much easier to embrace disappointment, and open up to Life's Adventure. Doing so, presents the perpetual mystery of The Great Unknown!
Machado wrote this poem about Wind and Gardens, from a state of deep grief, upon the death of his new bride at the tender age of 18, from Tuberculosis. Bly points out that Machado's poem "...starts with his personal garden (small "g"), but at the end, he's speaking to his soul about a greater Spiritual Garden (capital "G")."
There is a sense of stability I live by, which is always seeking to follow the river's course. My world is rich with natural wonders right outside our doorstep, a broad circle of fantastic friends whose own unique worlds overlap with mine, and a dynamic community of kindred spirits, whose vibrant energy brings precious joy.
Once a week I volunteer to work at a spiritual organization, which actively supports acknowledging things 'AS THEY ARE'. I notice how doing this makes a beautiful difference for those who dare to drop the mindspin, and labels, we tend to add on top of whatever simply happens. This 'volunteer day' is the highlight of my week. As I drive 'over the hill', it feels ironic to be taking the very same commute I once took to my former workplace--at a large county hospital--before my retirement. But instead of arriving at a tense, demanding, high-tech environment, I enter into a calm, sweet atmosphere--filled with awesome individuals, who are becoming dear friends.
So, the garden nourishes me, as I nourish it. It's a cycle that reciprocates. I did finally water the front yard last nite. I'll water the back yard today. But it will only mean having green weeds, instead of straw-colored weeds! I make continual choices about where my energy will go and what activities take the highest priority. The impetus for deciding is based upon Aliveness, and Meeting what LIFE presents, without abdicating my own authority.
Bly emphasizes that quite often, ". . . confessional poetry fails to achieve psychic weight (IF) it stays in the personal garden. Psychic weight does not require catastrophe. But it needs to point less to our ego and more to a cosmic sense of our true Self."
Bly emphasizes that quite often, ". . . confessional poetry fails to achieve psychic weight (IF) it stays in the personal garden. Psychic weight does not require catastrophe. But it needs to point less to our ego and more to a cosmic sense of our true Self."
What have you done with the garden entrusted to you?
“It always seems impossible until it’s done."
~ Nelson Mandela ~
~ Nelson Mandela ~
