So first of all, today didn't exactly go as planned. I planned on going back to my house today, but it was a complicated day and...well...the self-care and good boundaries I HAD planned had to be put on the back burner. I am sleeping amongst the herbs for one more evening, with the intention of leaving tomorrow morning. Also, my sister's cat pooped on my bed. I'm not even kidding. This all leaves me again, then, without a comfortable means of writing what I want to write, an anxious mind, and a keyed up body. Ever have those days where, when you finally sit down, you can practically hear your body go "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzing! ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzing!" with all the excess energy still pinging around inside? That's where I'm at now.
I am also, though, remembering the last line of this poem:
The Garden by Antonio Machado
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
'In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses.'
'I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.'
'Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.'
the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
'What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?'
This line haunts me from time to time. "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?" Our souls are gardens given to us -- entrusted to us-- in this life. On nights like tonight, when my heart just hurts as I try to figure out where I stand, I wonder what I did with my garden today. I think I neglect it quite a bit. It could have used some water today. It surely could have used a bit of water, actually. Instead, I let others take away the withered petals and the fallen leaves.
I am wondering, too, about boundaries. I'm bad at them. Extraordinarily bad at them. I'm getting better, but it's not easy. I'm wondering how we build fences around our gardens so they are able to flourish. Or not even necessarily fences...how about just walking paths, so you can walk THROUGH my garden, but you may not trample my roses. You cannot step on my hydrangeas. You may not pick my zinneas. I need some walking paths is what I need. And a couple "Do Not Enter" signs for the especially important places.
What does your soul garden need? What have you done with the garden entrusted to you?