garden (musings into mush universe)
If this heart were a garden this would be its foliage -- thick and alive, with a silence so palpably imposing, as if to say: "dare, if you will, to explore." It would be fierce, haunting but remote. It will take more than an average spirit to walk into it and tame the complex vegetation that grows within.
So then walk with me this way. Let us take a turn among the shrubbery and get lost in the wild roses blushing against the kiss of daylight fading. Feast your eyes on the greens of his life, that spring forth from the soil from which he takes root, the rich thud of its solid presence invites a glance. The heart is a labyrinth of earth beneath his feet. Would you dare to walk this path if you knew the soil was soft and thin? Care to get your feet all dirty?
Do you tread the stone-laden path with respect? Can you look at the flowers and make sense of them all without getting lost? Can you be by yourself without feeling alone? Can you navigate your way around this secret garden and make him speak like rain?
Will you pause to marvel at the flowers as their petals part in a hundred ways as if to say that is how you say goodbye, with grace and the insistence of longing to touch, just once again, the bud of this aging rose. Isn't this how we define our lives -- with a touch too fleeting and a departure to soon? Beware, this rose. It is called fear. Are your hands gentle enough to pluck this rose with your words?
(feb 27, 2005)
So then walk with me this way. Let us take a turn among the shrubbery and get lost in the wild roses blushing against the kiss of daylight fading. Feast your eyes on the greens of his life, that spring forth from the soil from which he takes root, the rich thud of its solid presence invites a glance. The heart is a labyrinth of earth beneath his feet. Would you dare to walk this path if you knew the soil was soft and thin? Care to get your feet all dirty?
Do you tread the stone-laden path with respect? Can you look at the flowers and make sense of them all without getting lost? Can you be by yourself without feeling alone? Can you navigate your way around this secret garden and make him speak like rain?
Will you pause to marvel at the flowers as their petals part in a hundred ways as if to say that is how you say goodbye, with grace and the insistence of longing to touch, just once again, the bud of this aging rose. Isn't this how we define our lives -- with a touch too fleeting and a departure to soon? Beware, this rose. It is called fear. Are your hands gentle enough to pluck this rose with your words?
(feb 27, 2005)
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