I don't mind swatting mosquitoes. . it's being swarmed and bitten that bothers me. Even just one buzzing by my ear is enough to draw a snarl from me. I don't mind donating blood, it feels good, but not stolen. Nor by an errant nail in a garden post. Bees will let me be. Welcome guests we are to each other, one planting, the other pollinating. And we don't feel busy, rather answering a call.
And then there's the inner garden. And it has it's share of guests and pests. Welcome thoughts and viral. Vampires bent on draining my spirit of every drop of love's labours. So there are fences to tend to, gates to mend. Earthy soil to replenish. Rest. What tools do I need? A shovel to spread the manure (do I need it? Seems I can't live without it) I'm pretty sure roses must be fed. My spiritual rose comes with thorns, fragrance, and is it blooming? Not without B.S. odd! And yet I must answer the call.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Tending my spiritual garden
Saturday, April 23, 2016
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