Dear reader, Shelley once wrote, “I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed.”
For years, I felt this way too and ended up wallowing in my sorrow. Questions of ‘Why me?’ haunted the dark corners of my mind and kept me from vacating this state for good. It was only in time that the clouds of disillusionment dissipated and I realised that my life had traveled far away without me, and all I had become was a spectator at my own show…
I had forgotten to show up for my own life and each new day had flowered and died, without me being there to water it and make it blossom.
How barren my garden looked! A mere heath that boasted only of unruly growths in unseen patches, grown magnanimous by my tears – a wildly tangled mess!
I had waited for the gardener all these years, dear reader, only to realise that no one was coming. I was all I had, and all I had had to show up if I was to revive and retain my garden.
Bit by bit I began clearing up the mess, uprooting the weeds, trimming and pruning what needed to be gone, and ‘burying the dead’ so to speak, so that the new could grow off of its nutrients.
And I did it every day.
That summer, my garden bloomed with life once more, and the sun shone so bright each day that the dark corners of my mind were also lit up. Rainy tears of joy helped water the flowers that blossomed to their full potential. I beheld my garden in its autumnal beauty and the winter winds that year were kinder to me. By spring, the fruits of labour shone bright upon the trees of my garden, whose boughs drooped as if to take a bow, and whose produce benefited not only me, but all those around me.
In that very poem, dear reader, Shelley also wrote, “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”
Spring isn’t far behind, I’ve learned, but the fruits of spring lie in the labour of the dark winters, and its beauty is beheld by every gardener who shows up.
Like the sun that rises every morning, and the stars that sparkle in the nights,
like the seasons that march in, unfailing; never saying no, or putting up a fight;
wake, O Gardener of your life, labour in your garden, and you’ll see,
how all your drooping plants, that had given up hope, have finally learned to breathe!
© Isha Garg
Doodles by Isha Garg
This post is dedicated to the dear followers of Ishaisms. Thank you so much! Cheers.