Brokeness, Presence, and Wholeness
Shields. Swords. Prevent. Pierce. Boundaries and defenses have different functions. Both potentially fierce.
In one area of the garden, there’s a plant with small piercing leaves next to another one with broad protecting ones. Their differences enhance one another. There are layers of contrast and compliment to discover in the yard … and that’s just with one’s eyes. Each sense has its own journey.
When I first saw the yard, I walked to an outer edge and sat on a bench. I froze in wonder as I took in the sights and smells around me: jasmine, roses, hydrangeas, lavender, strawberries, ground covers, broken wind chimes, gates, and winding paths. I was home.
After moving in, it took me weeks and even months to discover everything in the yard. I’d find treasure hanging in the trees, under bushes, and buried in mulch. It’s been a gift beyond my imagination.
As a child, I’d sit at my bedroom window and dream of a cottage garden like this. There was a time I didn’t believe I’d get one. There was a time I thought everything I wanted was just out of reach. But that’s a story, at least two actually, for another day. Back to this yard.
Layers of texture invite my eyes throughout the garden, evoking emotions from my deepest wells. I choose to work or sit in different areas depending on my mood. I grieve in the meditation space. I dream by the river of rocks I write amid the roses. I’ve left most areas intact. Sometimes, I enjoy being in the finished sections. Other times, I enjoy being in the areas that are in process.
The areas that are in process invite tension. My bodymind travels back and forth between enjoying the vision and feeling the weight of the work to come. Sometimes, I straddle both.
Some areas are a bit destroyed and I had no intention of changing them. However, we have an adorable six-month-old puppy that helped pull my 7 year old out of his depressed and angry state. Now, he’s pulling up the irrigation system. With all of the school schedule changes and the opening up of our world to outdoor activities, I’m falling behind on keeping up with repairing the damage. I shut it off to conserve water.
I appreciate the garden’s integrity.
She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t say, “I’m fine,” when she’s not. Rather, she wilts and withers, showing me what she needs. I can either tend to her and provide for her or she will slowly die.
When she is withering, I water her.
When she looks lonely, I sit with her.
When she has something to say, I listen.
In these moments, I don’t think about the space between where she is now and where I want her to be—my vision for her. Rather, I am in connection with her.
I am with her just as she is and she is whole.
I am with myself just as I am and I am whole.
Swords and shields.
Contrasts and compliments.
All the parts that are damaged or in process.
In the present, in connection, I find wholeness.