Okay, I am Back--But, Only to Share My Garden

The following is a letter written to my youngest daughter, who is a long way from home right now--she asked me to share it with my professors, I thought I would go one better, and share it with the world... Garden notes for Kasey

(This story is inspired by the memory of a 92 year old woman we bought our home from and whose rosebush I call by her name. Since my daughter is not here to see this year's blossoms, and is meanwhile blossoming from a distance, I wrote her this to let her know that she, like Mrs. Langley, is never far away from my heart, which heart she painted for me many years ago and now sits on a sacred space next to an owl done by Austin (the sculptor, same name as my son)that represents my father and grandfather and a crystal candle holder that represents my mother and grandmother, and inside of the crystal is a lite candle I light every day for every one in hope they will receive the same love my Kasey so freely gives.

I’ve really enjoyed Mrs Langley flowering in our garden this spring. Prolific and outstanding displays of yellow, morphed into orange, then red, as if…growing into some volcanic leftover of a woman who lived here many years, I honour her spirit, and, ours. I feel you blossoming from afar; it is sometimes a tortuous unfurling of life’s deepest mysteries, only to go all dark and undiscovered each new day. Such is life, kissing consciousness, returning unto unconsciousness, then erupting at the sight of metaphorical snakes or being stabbed by archetypes deep within the circle and possibly never even known by us, but witnessed by others in their own conscious, then unconscious, reacting or erupting selves. What a pattern it is, continuously rounded, coinciding, colliding or circuitously avoiding, repelling, propelling intentionally or not. I honour what I cannot change, but sometimes that which I can, I protect too ferociously. Unchaining one’s self from dependency upon others is wherein we learn the most about our kindnesses and our ability to create chaos. Many days I create kindness, but how suddenly that is forgotten by the ‘other’ when chaos comes at my beckoning—as it must. There is a time to stir the pot and a time to take it off the fire, a time to clean it and a time to put it away completely. Sometimes, the pot needs replacing, but if you buy it right, it will last the duration providing the house does not burn down entirely. Keep the extinguisher close to your heart! Guard the pot you cook with to feed your soul, your-self, your body—adore it, as much as I do you—it is your garden. I just now recognized the ownership from Mr to Mrs, how subtle it is to have avoided my conscious gaze before now. In these understandings you are so far ahead of me into a future I hope you will take me with you and hold me with your loving memory, always, with the ‘stability of mobility’ that returns, like Karma (the name my grandchildren call me). I shall be like these flowers of Mrs Langley’s to you one day, in your face, shouting all my loveliness as if it never went away, as it will not, thanks to the garden in your own mind I see every time I see you, Thank you!

Kasey, you are a bright spot in my garden, and you are here in displays of paintings you have rendered just for me, objects of artistic affection, and plainly rendered with your mind loving me, how divine is that? It is amazing! Swans hovering over my garden seat as well as my bath tub

whilst I sit with Birdling’s Flat rocks and do energy work on a nation, no on a world full of people swooning from crazy aches and pains not worth mentioning. I laugh my Buddha laugh and the neighbours are all excited again, to live, the death cycle is broken momentarily, but shall come again, and then, life persists. Wow, such a simple cycle, life/death/life. I like the sandwich and have faith I shall eat all of it. I am so voracious! What a strong feminine rising archetype, I am, and yet, a gentle wind on your face, enjoy it all, and you do, you goddess, you are blessed with the ability to navigate duality with grace. This is what it means to be holy, nothing less, nothing more, but the acceptance of all things without tearing down the structures in front of your face, soft gazes, with icy blue understanding behind layers of bliss, watery, bliss, life/death/life, it is the trinity of conscious thought that leads us safely through the unconscious navigation toward the next event.

And, whatever that is—I shall be inside the garden waiting, watering, and waiting, Mrs. Langley and me, erupting through the life/death/life cycle of the seasons in anticipation of our spring together, over and over, round and round, as it shall be, because we live and love one another and as many others as allow it.