Garden of Understanding

He said he thought we were connected somehow because no matter how much he tried he couldn’t pull himself away from me. He would often joke that I had cast a spell on him because he could smell my perfume and hear my voice when I’m not present. My smile was intoxicating to him; and he loved getting high because he’d go to the ends of the earth to please me. You see, from day one I had his heart. I cared for him, nurtured him like a mother nurtures her newborn. I tended to his every need before he could ever need anything at all. Washing his feet in water scented with oils from sandalwood; Cleansing his mind with detoxifying conversation that would leave him stimulated for days; Rubbing his back and mainframe eradicating any tension and stress the world may have caused him that day~ putting his body at ease; Making love through the night til the sun rose shining rays of pure bliss upon us; Encouraging him to excel beyond existing limitations and follow his dreams. He told me we were connected spiritually. That I was a product of him. That if he was a mustard seed, then I am the soil that nurtures it. I am his sustenance. The root and foundation of his being and without it he would wither away and destruct~ soul emptied. I showered him with tears so often that he’d drown in the puddles, mistaking it for the water he needed to survive… until he realized too much rain would make him destruct just the same. Although he couldn’t stand the heat, he vowed never to shun the sun cause he’d rather burn eternally than endure another rainy day.
And so, that seed began to grow. So much that others admired his bloom from miles away in awe of its’ vibrant colors; envious of the green leaves that surrounded it. Wondering how an empty abandoned garden could produce such beauty. What they didn’t know is that the soil was rich in vital nutrients. This soil was created especially for his garden. Even when the sun didn’t shine for days, leaving puddles of muddy waters and overturned leaves threatening growth; even when he planted seeds elsewhere the soil remained firm and strong continuing to provide him with the nourishment he needed to grow. Never turning her back on that tiny mustard seed she vowed to watch flourish.

Now, the colors don’t shine as bright as they used to. The flower doesn’t bloom in the spring like it used to. Instead he said he’d fallen victim to winter cause it’s never too hot and the rain doesn’t seem to fall as often. He re-budded himself in the winter garden with seeds that resembled him. As time passed he couldn’t understand why the others looked more exuberant than him, why they would bloom faster than him. What he didn’t know is that he wasn’t a winter bud. He was made for the heat- it kept him ambitious; he needed the rain- it made him humble. And although he could survive in the winter garden, he would never flourish. I see him sometimes when I pass the winter garden. Brown limp leaves, deteriorating color. I told him he was welcome back if he could endure the weather. He would drop his head in shame, and nod. I lifted his head high, looked him in his eyes and told him you are a product of me and me of you. I am your foundation, your soil. I won’t watch you wither away! He tore himself from the cold complacent garden, smiled and grabbed my hand. It was at that moment, for the first time, we had an understanding… and now I am at PEACE!