reemergence

Sadness has a particular weight, a palpable flavor, and a noticeable drag on one's momentum.  If one is fortunate enough to have supportive, compassionate friends who forgive the momentary lapse in bubbliness and positive outlook, who encourage one to embrace the sadness for its lessons and transformative properties, one might emerge from sadness a better, stronger person.

A long time ago...well, let's say it was just a year ago, actually, I went to the plant nursery and bought a large milkweed in a pot.  It had a thriving ant colony in the soil, it had blooms, and mature, ripe pods with fluffy seeds poking out.  I was so excited to start attracting native pollinators, in this case queen and monarch butterflies, to my back yard, which at the time was still at an undecided level of productivity.

I collected the seeds from the pod once I got home, put them in a baggie, and waited eagerly for signs of caterpillar consumption.  One day I found one!  A lovely little white-, black-, and yellow-striped creature clinging to a long, narrow stem.  I imagined this was just the beginning of a prolific butterfly raising farm in my tiny patch of earth.

The next time I checked, the caterpillar was gone, with no evidence of its transformation or clues to its whereabouts.  In fact, what I found was much worse--some of my plant was actually gone!  It was clipped at the base of the stem, a few inches from the soil.  Each day that I checked, more was gone, until I finally discovered that a wood rat had been destroying half of my back yard.  After a number of months, I was able to trap her and relocate her to the desert to make a life for herself that was less pesky to humans.  But my garden had taken a serious hit while she foraged daily; cactuses, pepper plants, okra sprouts, agave, and various other things were either severely damaged or completely demolished.  The milkweed was gone.

I had given up on my yard for a while; I wouldn't go out there and some other sad events made sitting in my own little space rather unappealing.  Grim.  My recycling overflow was basically the only purpose my back patio served for months.

Then spring came around.  The temperatures warmed up a little bit, some sunlight started making it over the building, and shining directly onto the soil.  I got inspired to start sowing seeds, watering, and cleaning it up a bit.  Feeling impatient for a result, I increased my efforts and planted more seeds, in a greater variety, and watered longer.  I planted the old milkweed seeds in the original pot with its compatible soil.  I put all manner of vegetable seeds in pots and in the amended soil I made, and I started composting my fruit and veggie scraps in the least productive section of my yard.  I kept watering.  I tidied up a bit.

I saw a few sprouts right away, actually.  The morning glories came first; they're so reliable and they volunteer themselves every summer.  My squash and green beans burst out of the ground.  My succulents flourished.  I spent more and more time barefoot and tending to these little green organisms who rewarded my attention with sturdy stems, broad, lovely leaves, and rapid growth.  My compost heap erupted cantaloupe sprouts, and the vines quickly and vigorously spread everywhere.  I was inspired to plant more seeds, including watermelon, okra, peppers, tomatoes, and succulent clones.  My yard was taking off!

It wasn't without hope, it wasn't just resting, recovering.  Taking the necessary time to deal with difficult conditions.  It was always going to rebound, in due time, with the right investment of love, attention, and resources.

I've been planting new seeds in my love life, too.  There was a little lag time, which made me worry that I wasn't putting the right vibes out there, that I wasn't being a positive magnet for my own experiences, but really I guess the seeds just needed time to germinate.  Time and the right combination of love.

My garden suffered when I stopped cultivating it; I could very possibly have grown winter vegetables, herbs, and fruits, if I had tried anything at all.  Instead, all I could focus on was what was lost and grieve over that loss.  But when I finally poured my loving energy into it, it flourished and shined love at me in return.

My heart has also suffered these past couple of months that I have been grieving.  My worries and doubts took over like weeds in my untended plot of land.  I neglected fighting them off, moving them out of my healthy space.  I took time to let my plot rest during the difficult conditions, and when it was time I began removing those weeds of doubt and fear.  I started showering my heart with love again.  I planted seeds of hope and gratitude, and trusted that they would survive.  I watered and they returned.  And now my heart is a healthy, lush, green garden of love and optimism again.  My garden is an extension of my heart.  Those peaceful vines and herbs and shrubs and tiny beasts occupying that tiny space are inseparable from my heart.

That love energy flows through and throughout.  The energy pools and sometimes is impeded but only needs some tending to flow freely again.