Sunday I awoke feeling like new and thought of the prior night's cry. I also recalled how before going to bed, I lay in the grass for the first time in a month. Communing with Earth, I felt at peace and connected yet by the time I made it to bed I just about shouted my request. Was feeling better my sign?
Later in the day I drove to the country where I've a home surrounded with gardens. (The original owner was a Master Gardener.) I arrived with hesitation due to the two nights of twenty-degrees we had just experienced. With the same energy with which I demanded a sign, I had also begged the angels over my property to protect the emerging life there from cold's harm. I had telepathically demanded that the flowers remember the sun held in their roots as the freeze took hold of the area.
I feared the emerging flowers would be frozen. Mrs. Stewart, Clarice as she was known, planted a variety of daffodils and I so wanted to see them this year. Truthfully I longed to see them this year.
Acceptance and non-attachment are tricky for me. I wanted to be okay with frozen foliage, but frankly I didn't want to feel the sadness that mushy, limp daffodils and hyacinths would stir.
I arrived to see Jerry unpacking his backpack and airing his tent from a weekend trip. I was happy to see him but I see him every day. I was happier to be greeted by the guests I only see once a year. Flourishing daffodils, bluebells, hyacinths, and trilliums all showed their colorful heads about the yard. Even now tears of joy come to my eyes as I type this for these precious beings only arrive once a year for such a short time. These aren't the flowers in the grocery or florist's shop. These are living entities with whom I've had a relationship for eight years. They were loved by the woman and man who planted them and are equally loved by Jerry and me.
I walked around seeing "my sign" everywhere. The forsythia was in all its yellow glory. The lilac blossoms were thriving as were tiny bleeding heart blossoms, lily of the valley, Easter lilies, peonies and columbine. And the spiral of lavender bushes that looked dead over winter showed signs of green!
These beautiful blossoms were my sign. My prayers of protection had been heard by the angels and spirits I experience in this place.
I started not to share this story. My inner judge said, "Who am you to pray over plants when people are hungry, homeless and sick? Do the flowers really need your prayers?" They may not need them but they love them. I feel that just as I felt them loving me as I sang to them yesterday. And I know I need their joy in this world of guns, fracking, fighting, sex trafficking, GMO's, animal abuse, ecological degradation corruption, hunger, homelessness, and such neglect. I need to feel the joy they bring me. I need to feel my prayers are heard just as I need their sweet scent in my face intermittently as I type.
I only cut flowers in my yard when I feel a sense that I'm suppose to do so. Yesterday as I walked about I heard from the ones desirous of returning to the city with me. I sang and clipped as today I write and cry tears of joy as this bouquet of aliveness sits across from me. They remind me I am the Master Gardener in my life whether I'm offering prayers of love and care for me, my home or others or I'm pouring out my heart's love as I lie on the earth or dig in the dirt. Ultimately it is all about Love.
Love, Love, Love, Love, Love.
-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 30 March 2015
Enjoy the beauty of these seven varieties of daffodils.
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