I AM A PLANT

There is always music amongst the trees in the garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it.
— Minnie Aumonier

I pruned my head this week, as one prunes a tree in preparation for Spring — my own internal and external Spring. I spontaneously bid farewell to all of my hair. For new growth, for raw, authentic presence, for lightness and freedom and simplicity, for cultivating intentionality, for women, for my children, for my spouse, for the world, for 77 other reasons, and for quiet. Especially for quiet. This act and ritual of courageous self-love marked a new season of symbolic rebirth, renewal, and transparency for me. Becoming “bare” has opened up new field of quiet for me, in many magical ways, where I can listen and perceive, with newfound focus, to the quiet amongst the trees in the garden of my life. In this raw quietude, I can hear the whispers of what needs tending to — and I can water and nourish that, as I love a plant. May we often remind our hearts to capture the lovely silence of growing things: our children, the unrushed and delicate natural world, and our soul’s garden. And, as a plant, may we always lean towards the light, especially when the skies are gray.

Me in Bloom

Me in Bloom

Wild Peace & Grace

Life.  Messy.  The grace of nature never fails to sustain, console, uplift, and redeem me.  In stillness and openness, I listen, I learn, I grow.  As fires burn too close to home, and life aches and beckons new expansion, these two poems hold space and healing balm today.  I am deeply grateful that they found me, as I am for the beautiful sisters who shared them my way and for the beautiful authors whose poetic words quench, heal, pacify.  ~ Katherine R.

The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

 

When We Plant a Rose Seed in the Earth by W. Timothy Gallwey

When we plant a rose seed in the earth, we notice that it is small, but we do not criticize it as "rootless and stemless." We treat it as a seed, giving it the water and nourishment required of a seed. When it first shoots up out of the earth, we don't condemn it as immature and underdeveloped; nor do we criticize the buds for not being open when they appear. We stand in wonder at the process taking place and give the plant the care it needs at each stage of its development. The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change; yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.

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