“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Anais Nin
We tend gardens in Spring under the illusion that we somehow affect the outcome, that our careful placement of seed or plant has anything to do with the eventual opening of the buds of May.
No credit given to the artist and unknown creator of the fragile petals that unfold, we proudly display our garden, rarely acknowledging that we are just the temporary curators of an impermanent living gallery.
Our heart and spirit are also part of this life gallery, we too are meant to unfold and flower in this fleeting moment we occupy space on the planet.
Not born to stay “tight in the bud” we struggle in darkness until most of us break open, this second opening no less courageous than our journey from the womb.
Conscious of our consciousness and knowing that venturing forward will involve both great pain along with pleasure, we willingly submit and release ourselves again and again to the unknown.
One undeniable truth “No one gets out of here alive” and we who have experienced all that this life has to offer will finally stand in complete and exquisite exhaustion and wonder at our solitary arrival and departure on this mysterious journey ………
Sculpture EXPANSION, THIRD LIFE
This was written in response to Girlieonthedge Six Sentence Story Thursday
Prompt word: Release
©photo credit westcoastwoman
I am a gardener. A number of years ago while studying Garden Design I was asked to do a project on garden ornamentation.
I started by scouring the better parts of the city looking for aesthetically pleasing displays, they were easily found but something was lacking. I wandered collecting the photographs but as I walked I felt like I needed something more. Yes, the gardens were lovely but that was it, they were ‘just’ lovely. All trimmed and ornamented everything in it’s place….. this would not do, I needed some meat, something interesting.
That is when I stumbled upon the Adam and Eve of Cadillacs, pink and blue, male and female, here in a rather dishevelled display I could almost see the yin and yang of life. I was so taken with the partially interred Pink Cadillac I almost completely missed her blue mate in the background.
Standing in awe of this rather strange spectacle I was joined by one of the neighbours who shared with me that the brake lights on Eve were lit up every night. I assume in a show of ‘Respect’ and a reflection that there was life in the old girl yet.
Obviously there was great affection for the ‘deceased’ vehicle (although she could have used a bit of a wash). I like to think that perhaps parts of Eve had been used to keep Adam up and running and that he paid her homage each time he backed out of the driveway.
Now this was garden ornamentation! perhaps gone wrong, but certainly never forgotten. My completed project consisted only of what I considered wacky garden art, gardens on the edge and they were easier to find than one would imagine. The Garden Designers, the ‘people’ on the edge of the garden, now there is a story waiting to be told.
I think there are a couple of Aretha Franklin songs in here somewhere.
“We’re going ridin’ on a freeway of love in a Pink Cadillac” Aretha Franklin”
©photo credit westcoastwoman
Morning light streamed through the shutters, she awoke finding herself hovering somewhere between content and completely unhinged.
Thoughts flitted from place to place never sure where to settle these days, the cocoon of certainty and safety broken open long ago.
The garden provided refuge but even insects only stayed temporarily taking what was offered in the moment as blooms and nectars ebb and flow.
Relationship offered comfort as long as undeniable incremental changes were factored in, together and apart nothing ever as it seems.
Illusion of control was obvious, nothing to hang on to, thoughts, garden, relationships all morphing into their next incarnation with no action required but Witness.
The New Normal beckoned her with a smile, her thought finally settled:
“Precarious is the New Stable”
©photo credit westcoastwoman
Written in response to Girlie on the Edge Six Sentence Stories
Word prompt: STABLE
credit Lordess Foudre
“All Compost Rots, but not all Rot is Compost”
Lower to the ground.
Kneel and assume, ‘the position’
Reverence: earth, seed, soil
Spring’s sacred cathedral.
Born of winter’s promise
composed, decomposed, Composted
last year fades, surrenders, spirals
More becomes Less
Less formed in darkness,
turned and (re)turned to soil,
Seeds break open to
gamble on new life.
Will I submit to this process
Circle back around
gather lost and shattered bits,
the organic matter of my life
Compost intimate details
brokenness, unshed tears,
turn towards the fragility
not beyond, take the gamble
roots of estrangement
embraced with compassion
Circle back around again
nothing left behind, unattended
no longer in pieces I assume
‘the position’ (re)forming
this new life, this light
born in darkness.
photo credit westcoastwoman
The ground began to thaw and in a flash it was Spring, time to make their way into that other world, the world of Light.
I observed each day as they gingerly emerged, their fragile petals unfurling in a gift of surrender.
They had no way of knowing that change had been afoot in the world of Light as they slept safe and warm in the protective darkness.
Rules were changing, nothing was as it had been, the warmth, the cold, the light and the dark.
The Bell Jars were placed for protection before the snow fell, days later they reemerged, safe in their glass houses.
The thought occurred….. is there a Bell Jar large enough to protect our collective humanity, our all too human hearts, the world of Light we live in?
(written in response to Sunday’s six sentence word prompt. Prompt word FLASH)