After being a single mother for 10 years, I left my homeland to marry in Europe. I had built my massage therapy business, literally with my own two hands. When it was time to pack my house and home business, every cloth I folded, was folded with care. Every nail in the wall was carefully removed. Things disappeared within wraps of paper, and again inside boxes. Sealed away. Put to rest.
It was as my heart torn from me. The empty room was stark. I heard echoes. Echoes of laughter long past. Of sorrow and tears long past. Of confessions that fell only upon my ears. Silent now. The life taken from her bowels as she stood empty.
An era gone. And now I’m back in my homeland. The wind knocked out of me and hard to recover enough to give effort to growing a business. The objects came out of the packed boxes with care. One by one, the memories and fondness returned.
Careful placement of every item, and loving intent. The room is like a sanctuary now. Waiting ready for those who seek comfort or solace.
In the meantime, my energy has gone towards the new endeavor of growing a garden. It’s somehow easier to put my energy into this, something that doesn’t need packing and putting away when it’s time for us to move on. Putting energy into land that has a life of its own. That I can mold this land and it relinquishes its weeds when I persist, and prepares for new growth. She asks, “What would you have of me?”
What else could be so giving?
Growing a lovely garden that is my altar. I connect with it, and it with me. When I arrive, she greets me with flowers and fruits. Her altar is there, decorated with her flowers and fruit offerings. You only need to take from it.
And you will care for her, by cleaning the soil. Feeding the soil, feeding the plants. Pouring the water of life. You feed each other. There is no separation.
How can you not love a garden when it gives its heart and soul?