The Process of Becoming

I search for wisdom and inspiration in Nature. To heal myself and to share the spiritual insights I find with others in the hope that what I experience and write about will heal them in some way too. On a morning like this when the silver light shines down from a dark grey sky into the humble life of the garden, Mother Nature makes it so easy to find what I am looking for. There is an ambiance of holiness in the air that I want to touch, breathe in and draw deep into the subtle parts of me. Stories write themselves in the breeze, bits of wisdom drip from the Cyprus tree and the clouds weave wild words in a language of their own.

I feel like a priestess in the herb garden this morning. It’s like the smell of the damp earth and rain awakens memories of another time, another life, and I feel the presence of Goddess even more. I pick some borage flowers and sage from for my morning tea and a thought crosses my mind. Doesn’t the phrase ‘heaven on earth’ seems made for days like this where pieces of heaven fall with the rain to touch the once dry soil? Because when the world is wet and grey, it is so still while a sacred glow falls over the land and to me it feels like an imagined heaven.

My pondering mind is full of questions today. What is in a raindrop? The secret dreams of the river queen flowing from the mountains to the ocean? And what does the tree feel when she’s soaked in raindrops that glisten like diamonds in the soft light? Does she revel in the coolness of their touch? Sometimes when the branches are heavy from their weight it seems like the raindrops are pulling the tree downward to the earth and saying “Look down. Look how far you’ve come! As you reach toward the sky, never forget the journey you’ve taken.”

Maybe the tree needs this reminder so that she doesn’t feel stagnant, rooted in one place for eternity. Maybe she needs to know that although she doesn’t flow across lands or etch meandering river course ways into the sand, she is still moving, charting her soul’s path as she branches into the sky. In fact, don’t we all need these reminders from time to time? We need to be reminded that no matter how slow or treacherous our journey may seem sometimes, we are always growing. Even when the heart’s desires seem far off, we are in the process of becoming. We are in the process of becoming the writer, the healer or the better version of ourselves that we so long to be. Half the joy of life is in the process, the experience and the journey after all.

While it’s never helpful to dwell in the past, it’s necessary sometimes to look back and take note of how far you’ve come, to take stock of the obstacles you’ve overcome and the circumstances you’ve triumphed over. Sometimes you just need to look back to count the stepping stones you’ve passed to know that you are actually moving forward and then be grateful for where you are right now and what you’re journeying toward.

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Blushing Jasmine & some link love

I dreamt of jasmine the other day. Then yesterday I noticed my jasmine bush is blushing with pretty pink buds that will soon burst into bloom. Jasmine has a special place in my heart. Not just for its beauty or fragrance, but because it symbolises a bond with a dear soul sister of mine. My friend loves jasmine flowers. Back in our university days we would seek jasmine out on campus this time year, creeping along the hedges and secretly picking a bunch for her room. When I moved to the city, I’d pick the flowers wherever I could find them and send them to her in a letter. Now that I have some growing in my own garden, I’ll send her some once they’re in bloom. It’s a beautiful thing to have these kinds of precious connections with people.

Today is hot and dry and my airy lounge offers me refuge from the sudden wave of heat. After a productive writing session and a mid-morning nature walk, it’s the kind of day for sipping on cooling peppermint tea and reading leisurely into the afternoon.  So that is exactly what I am doing.

That said, this seems like a good opportunity to share some link love. Here are a few things I’ve enjoyed reading lately:

This poetic sea washed beauty from Kerrie – Fading and Withered

I loved these two posts from Asia of One Willow Apothecaries – Allowing on a Late Summer Day and Spring Ephemerals + the Magic of Vulnerability

How tranquil and beautiful is this lavender farm that Monica writes about in here latest post – Summer Impressions {Small Moments}

Suzi Crockford writes about The Great Conversation

tps://woolgatheringwildcrafting.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/spring-ephemerals-the-magic-of-vulnerability/

How tranquil and beautiful is this lavender farm that Monica writes about in here latest post – Summer Impressions {Small Moments}

http://monicasabollagruppo.com/summer-impressions-small-moments/

When You Are Here

There is no chill in the breeze this morning, only the heat of the early sun beating down. It seems like a good day to wear a dress. My garden is ablaze with wild morning light and it’s too warm for the jersey I’m wearing. It’s early for this kind of weather, yet here we are.

The bamboo chimes sway slightly. They offer gentle notes of music…tinkle, tinkle, tinkle… There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, the one you get when you know that something wonderful is about to happen. Somewhere inside me dormant wild seeds are bursting back to life. Winter slowed me down, lulling parts of my into a deep slumber. Now I feel a revival taking place within.

Something about the light, the breeze and the sweet chiming sounds makes me wonder things. Like what it will be like when you are here?

You, my dear child, son, daughter…or both.

I think of you often. I feel your spirit around me too. I love you already. But I want to know, what will it be like to see you, feel you, hold you and know you in the flesh?

Will you squeal with delight when we walk out into the garden, saluting the sun, collecting herbs and giving thanks to Mother Earth, to the Goddess? Will you love the feel of wet grass under your feet?

And your hands, those tiny precious hands. I see them in my mind’s eye all the time. I imagine them kneading with me, scattering flour on the kitchen floor and leaving little imprints in the dough when we bake our weekly loaf.

These thoughts stir whirls of joy in my heart. They give me hope. I know that you will come when you are ready. Being patient isn’t easy, but yes, I must not lose faith.

I came across a quote by Nancy Levin yesterday that says: “Honour the space between no longer and not yet.”

I took it to heart. While I want you to be here more than anything, you are not yet. In the meantime, I need to remember to honour this space in-between, to accept it as it is. I need to stop seeing it as an eternal waiting room of separateness and instead cultivate wholeness, softness and the right kind of readiness to receive you into. I need to focus on cultivating the kinds of qualities that allow me to become wild mother I want to be to you. 

That is what I will do. Something tells me that the more I peace find in this space between, the sooner the day will come when I awake up to discover that the ‘not yet’ is the present and there you will be in my arms. Until then, I carry you in my heart.

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