The Two Gardens

I sit in the center of this garden. The green grass is lush and shiny. I feel a breeze caress my cheek. I'm comfortable. Yet, I am lacking. What am I lacking?

The rose bush is huge with thorns in hidden places. How her sight and scent lures and entices only to prick you when your approach is too eager, aggressive and without care. I am reminded of myself. My skin is soft, my hair, silky. If you come too close and too fast, you'll wish you hadn't.

I'm not alone, here. I used to think that I was. In the silence, I can hear the music of the spheres, of my spheres, peaks and valleys. I want to be understood, to be accepted, to...be. I hear a voice, a familiar one, being carried on the wind, moving towards me. I'm too busy looking at the spilled cups to appreciate the ones I have standing.

That's when I notice another garden, in my mind's eye. There, the grass is lush, too, the rose bushes, grand and majestic. But, there is an unusual tiny flower tucked away in the corner of the earth. I'm attracted to this little flower, this lonely flower that sits quietly, and asks for nothing. I bring focus to it. I imagine what it would be like to go to it, to tend to it, to marvel at its texture between my fingers.

I ought to accept where I am, because here is all there is.

Where does change come in? When is it necessary? To get on another trajectory? When is a state of dissatisfaction a true sign to move instead of a reflection of a resistance to what is?

This flower, that's caught my attention, is humble. It's unique. It's beautiful. It's tender. And I'm a feeler and so, I want to give to it, water it, love it. It's not enough to tend to it in my mind's eye. I wish to be near it.

True, I can love from afar. I can love everything and nothing. There is here and here is there. As above, so below. As inside, so outside. That way, the flower is always close...only a thought away.