Lately I have been taking a walk through my soul, arms outstretched to get a grip of the beautiful fruits that my trees have been producing. I am in awe of the strength and resiliency that my roots have shown through this process of healing. Where my rivers once ran dry, they are now flowing. Where my soils once bruised the seeds that they held, they are now learning the practice of nurturing all of my pieces. I am swaying in joy.
I had fallen out of the habit of loving myself somewhere along the line, so falling back in love has been such an amazing adventure. For some reason, I grew OK with making myself believe that I was undeserving of things like love, beauty and respect. I traded my roses for thorns, convinced that I was only subject to pain. I began to shrivel away as I lost grip of my roots.
I was tired of seeing my flowers wilting, though. I was ready to bloom again. I had to replace my waning mindset with one that was prepared for growth. It was a little tough trying to decrease the unhealthy thoughts that I had allowed to pervade my space for so long. Negative practices made a home out of my mind, and I felt as if I were struggling to break free. But I wanted so bad to be unbound.
For a while, I would barely even manage to admire my garden from the kitchen window. No seeds were being planted, and the life that was already growing began to wilt. My garden went untended for much too long. I walked past it daily, ashamed of how the beauty that it once held was now replaced by a gloomy shadow that covered weeping branches and seeped into exhausted soil. My flowers withered as my soul did, too. I was not pleased with the way I had been neglecting myself and abandoning the tending that needed to take place.
I started spending time in my garden again. It became a ritual, a religion that required practice every day. It helped to set me free. I now rise in the mornings and dedicate time to shower my soils with love and affirmation. My seeds have began to sprout, my flowers have began to bud. As I mentioned in my last blog post, the fear of blooming kept me in my wilting stage. I felt that with blooming came opening up to hurt again, and in dealing with past pain that decided to resurface after I thought I had rid myself of it, I was hesitant to try yet again. I became so cautious of taking steps that I found myself not moving at all. There were times when I told myself I could never thoroughly heal, and that mindset kept me stagnant for so long. I loved myself too much to give up, though. I started to make each day a celebration for the woman I am, even in the midst of recovering. I began to soak in the truth that I am ever deserving of anything that promotes growth in this soul and everything that fuels me to love, feel, and exist in full capacity. I have seen many storms and I have tasted many broken promises. I have poured so much of myself into people who knew nothing about giving but everything about taking. I have weeped many nights alone in the silence of my suffering, but there somehow remains this inexhaustible strength deep inside of my soul that faithfully carries me through it all.
I am more loving of myself. I am more truthful with myself. I am more aware of myself and all of the beauty that inhabits my being. That empowers me to walk through my garden daily and fall in love with it even more. I can hear the birds humming amongst my branches. I can feel my roots expanding beneath these soils. I can see my flowers blooming and fruits ripening. Branch by branch, I am growing. Petal by petal, I am unfolding. I am evolving.
The following piece is a poem that I wrote in the midst of stepping foot back into my garden. It helps me to remember the strength and durability that I hold. It helps me to see myself holy and blessed. It reminds me that as I walk the beds of this world, I must too remember to walk the grounds of myself and become more intimate with my pieces.
I have heard the sky cry out the same way as I have, tasted the salt of my very own tears from rivers running deep through the valleys of this sacred place. I have seen God move mountains in the same way this soul has moved pain. This body beds seeds just as those that are sown into the souls of the earth and blooms in much a similar way. I have witnessed the sun refuse to be veiled by the clouds, and I have picked shadowed dust from these dry bones. I have felt the rhythms of this universe beat in sync to my heart, and I have heard its songs of worship through the whispers of the wind. I have seen God bring the flowers to their knees, and I have had phases where I have wilted the same. I have seen roses bloom from the darkest corners, and I understand now why I too can bloom in the midst of my sorrows. I thank God for making everything in his image for when my heart cries the heavens open up and the rain pours down, the birds hum in the awakening of the morning, the sun rises and falls, and I know that he hears me and comforts me with his gentle presence. And when these praises fall from my lips, the earth rests in my sweet glory.