The Garden

The evening air, the fading light, the warmth, mid summer, sitting around a table, trees to the left, grass at the feet, a beer in one hand, a few friends around. They were meeting with a Spirit, a stranger but a friend, the power of the universe was in their hands. The words of old were lost in translation, one of them utters, they all agree. The number of wars fought in the name of God, all because of the translations. Every way you look at it, it has to be a flowing river, and it has to be allowed it’s natural course. Was he talking about the river, the words, or was it themselves. He them made a triangle with his hands, it’s this simple. We are all part of the living earth, given talents and energies, how we respond is the same plight as the gardener and the crops, it’s what you put into the experiences that decides the outcome. They looked at each other, they were all young fathers, there children’s future depended on what they did, with the garden.

The Voice

Her ears shifted up, it was the voice, there was a rhyme in her heart, it wasn’t that she listened to pure rhythm, it was the way her heart reacted, there was an ease in her stride, even if she walked in the dark, she couldn’t see, so she learned to feel emotionally, the senses. Her eyes had never been cast upon envy as the eyes do normally see, they did not see the love that was on parade, it wasn’t that she wasn’t feeling inside, it was the way she expressed herself, the gentle sigh, the call of a bird in the trees, love is never threatening, just brings along a case of sensuous anxiety sometimes, so it was to the voice she was tuned, it was how she dealt with the difficulty of sight, having eyes and being unable to see, being blind while being able to see.

Solomon was remarking on the reaction of a fried, the widening smile, and how easy it was to ad a little sparkle to any life, how the lack of threat was freedom to many, just being able to be oneself, true. There are words we want to put on situations, sometimes we can’t find them, our emotional baggage is too heavy, other times we are afraid to utter them, afraid of the reaction and how it could change something. In the cafe he heard her voice, it wasn’t the conversation, it was the way she blended her smile and words with that voice, amen. It was music for the heart, that voice.

The Little Man

It’s my day, he wakes with a rush, lies in his cot, just wonders, the little tot. It’s going to be great, he knows the routine, he’s going to get a choice, he already knows it, and he just smiles from the heart, then the door opens, and there his mother stands, arms open, her eyes wide with wonder, his eyes fling wide, pick me up look in his eyes. She laughs, come on you, she carries him to the kitchen, puts the child, in his seat, puts the kettle on. The worry is over, the demon is gone. She’s found the help she needed, made the step, went across to the other side, met others who were afraid like her, and since that day, her life has been a turnaround. The escape plan of the emotional kind, is now time she can save to spend with her child, the little man. he’s seen what not ought to have been witnessed by a child, but she has forgiven herself, and her little man feels it too. The dark energy is gone, remain in the zone, and don’t go back. It’s her mantra. Every time she looks at him, all she feels is love, it used to be despair, for what she put her child through, those demons she met along the way.

Solomon was reading a story, how addiction is overcome, and the results, the new heart, that resulted. We all win when those in need get the help. Why didn’t they get to rehab sooner retorts the noisy neighbor, why do we get into trouble sighed Solomon. Maybe to remind us, that we are never alone. Solomon encountered Holy Spirit, and each time he asked for the help, it just arrived, and he didn’t have to imagine it. Amen