Taming My Flame and the Garden Within Me

My mother was once callous and cold. A woman worn from the incessant askings of her own adolescence. She, much like me, grew up far too quickly. I have never known her to move with softness, a characteristic I’ve recognized in myself. We blame it on inheritance. “The women in our family are brash and abrasive, there’s nothing we can do”. I allow my bitterness to simmer and it fills my blood with poison. There’s so much heat in my head I could boil my brain. My anger burns and eats me alive every moment I allow it. I’m no longer familiar with sweet vulnerability, my heart once a bunny’s coat now a seething coal. 

Yet a fresh breath falls on my lungs again. I am still sweating but the fire is out. A call from my mother. We used to scream til there were no more swears to say. She tells me of a poem she wrote. I see where I found my love of words. She shows her cards, speaks from the heart. I should share mine. She seeks my counsel, asks my advice. I see her in softness. It’s a small green shoot sprung up through the ash, among all the rubble. There’s kindness between us I haven’t known for over a decade. I am delicate with it, there’s a certain fragility regarding newness. I nurture our connection and the growth is mutual. We water each other with encouragement and empathy and my blood runs through a little cooler. 

I breathe in again, sharing in harmony with the earth around me. My roots sink deeper in presence and I reach a darker layer of soil. The rage bubbling up in my body was an attempt to warm the frigid well of sorrow that dampens my heart and puts salt on my pillow. Without my armour of anger there is a river of emptiness flowing through me. My aching soul on an empty street calling out for anything to answer. I wait with thumbs in ears, I’ve already settled on casting myself to the void. I beg to drown. To my annoyance, I continue to breathe. 

I float around in a self pity pit until I tire of nothingness and nowhere. I make excuses and allowances until I, at last, surrender to the stream that spits me out. The ground is hard and unforgiving. A wasteland, barren as far as eyes can see. I could sit and starve, or search for a greener pasture. I wring my shirt, choose life, and start my journey. 

There will be joy, I am certain. There is more spring inside of me than there used to be. I sprinkle seeds from my pocket as I walk. Water seeps out through my soggy socks and the parched planet drinks. No longer frozen, no longer on fire, I radiate a warmth compatible with the growth I go towards. I take a moment to rest, and lay my head on a bed of grass. Surprised by the softness, I sit upright. My eyes now wide open, I gaze into the garden that has appeared around me. Unknowingly planted, tended to by willingness, acceptance and perseverance. Everyday is an opportunity to change your mind. Time is precious, we’re not in control, no sense to ask why. Pick yourself up and water your garden, nurture the life that’s left inside.