Changing of the Seasons

I worked in the garden today and I saw evidence of Spring everywhere. The agapanthus are in full bloom their flowers as blue as a cloudless sky, the Serbian bellflower is ripe with buds waiting to share it's nectar with the bees, the sun was shining, its rays warming the soil that I tilled beneath my feet. For me their is nothing like being in the garden. There is something about the nature of that soil, its loamy sweet aroma filling my senses, that takes me to another place and time, one that is devoid of that pervasive sadness that is in my soul.

I have been seeped in sadness for most of my adult life. There is the obvious reason, the one rooted in watching my friends die for so many years, one after another, from a horrible disease. But there has also always been another deeper soul ache too, one that got tapped into with each passing death I bore witness to. I remember saying to friends as we stood in yet another hospital room that there was nothing more sacred than to be present at someone's birth or death. I also remember saying that no one should be so intimately acquainted with death at such an early age. And we were. By the time I was in my mid 30's I had lost count of the friends and friends of friends that I had lost. Each one a part of my life. Each one taken so young. I remember sitting on the ground with my then partner at the memorial service for a friend of his that I had only met once. I could not stop crying. He asked me why I was sobbing. All I could say was I was crying for yet another life of someone who was taken so young, their cycle of life ending before their Spring had ever been lived. What I didn't know at the time, I was also crying at the loss of so much of my own life too.

I think these are the hardest things for me to come to terms with in my ongoing recovery. The loss of my innocence to the horrific sexual abuse I endured for 4 years. The loss of all the time afterwards when I was literally running from the memories lying just below the surface of my consciousness. And now, the awareness of the loss of potential that my life held had I not been abused.

I visited some private gardens yesterday here in the City. They were part of the Garden Conservancy's Open Garden Days Tour. There were 6 that we went to see in different parts of the City, some up in the highlands, one spectacularly perched on a cliff with a clear view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Each wonderful in their own way. Each a representation of the unique vision of the owner and their gardeners. But there was only one that profoundly affected me. It was the last one we saw in an older part of City called the Western Addition. It was a small garden located in the back of an old Victorian. It was clear when were arrived that the home was well cared for. The front had lovely old vintage roses and the original wrought iron fencing, but what was missing was any hint of what was in store for us in the back. That was revealed slowly as we ventured down the side path. The first thing we saw was a beautifully laid table with moss place mats, four settings of delicate china, each topped with teacups that were overflowing with miniature plants. It was setting the stage for the unfolding of a whimsical place full of fairy lairs, a bed made of layered mosses and succulents, a humpty dumpty perched high on a fence, a babbling brook, among many other things. It was a magical garden that pulled me down onto my knees, creating for me a sense of childlike wonder at each little tiny piece that made this place so incredible. And once I was down, I became aware that I was being connected to the very energy of life. I told this to the owner as we were leaving thanking him for such an amazing journey. He thanked us for coming and told us that my experience described his wife's soul perfectly. I left feeling like I was walking on air.

It is important for me to be reminded that this still exists, that someone could be so loving, so childlike, and so integrally connected to life's energy as an adult. I lose sight of that much of the time even though the cycle of the seasons in my own garden very much mirrors my experience yesterday. I have tried to create in each cycle a constant feeling of rootedness in the energy of the earth, each one representing a part of life's journey. I have also tried to supplement my garden with statuary, pieces of sentimental art, and found objects in an attempt to create a sense of mystery, spiritual connectiveness, and childlike awe. One that is rooted in the energy of the earth, the history of this property, and my specific journey through recovery. And when I am out there, like I was today, I do feel that connectiveness and awe. It is just hard sometimes so keep a hold of it as I make my way through each day. I feel that is why I am so grateful for the opportunity to garden the terraces behind my apartment building and to experience the journey of others as represented in their gardens; because for me these are the important things of life, the true bits of life that make all the others bits livable. It's the integral beauty of birds splashing as they bath, of bees moving from plant to plant feeding off the nectar, of flowers reaching for the sun, and the sounds of the wind as it rustles the leaves of the trees. This for me is Mother Earth's constant voice whispering to me that she is there, at my side, always loving, always supporting, as I walk the difficult and often painful path towards wholeness.