Everything is a cycle, and broadening your sensitivity with the help of elementals will only affirm this for you. This spring I returned to working with plants after a 5-year hiatus. Being among and caring for thousands of plants over 3 or 4 months surrounds you with healing energy. It’s happening without your worry. It’s happening without your conscious prayer. It just is. Are you ready to embrace this at the start of a new year?
If you step into the year, you will find many small spirals telling the story of smaller lives. Pay attention though, because small does not mean insignificant. Watering the herb rack, I noticed the dill. It came in so delicate during the cool months when winter was still muttering about Christmas trees set out to the curb for pick up. It only took a few sunny days, and it shot up like a rocket. We were all talking about soul families then. How are we all connected? Why am I drawn to certain people? What do we share? Then I looked again at the blossoms of the dill. They faced an infinite sky so proudly. I saw us all at the tips of slender stems, on the edge of grace, on the edge of longing, but united by our roots in the shadows. Then they appeared overhead.
Dragonflies were drawn to the water from my hose. Their numbers grew, and they made good photo subjects. They were patient at times, and yet they craved movement. They stole after me as I began my new running endeavor on a wooded path. But soon they darted ahead of me. Some begged me to go on alone having been seduced by a puddle from a recent rain. For weeks, I watched them. I looked up their symbolism: connection with the divine, transformation, resurrection, news from other dimensions.
It was magical, and yet sort of tragic. The cycle would continue. The reunions of one age doesn’t preclude another age from showing up. It plants new seeds while the dill and the dragonflies fall into a hush.
Working with nature is about getting out of your head. It is about staying in peace even as change reveals itself. It is hard for me. It’s hard for a lot of us who find ourselves relishing and cherishing. The lesson of detachment comes frequently in the garden. But when you start seeing the signs, when you start understanding the subtle language, when you start remembering what you can do, there is a comforting pulse. It’s easier to fall from the tree. I have so much more to tell you though. It was a year of extraordinary growth and a year that’s still playing out. I’m not stepping on December’s toes. I simply want you to fill you with warmth. I want to tell you so much. I want to show you what I’ve found. Hope you keep reading.