The hill before me seems so steep, so long, so much bigger than me. The winding path uneven and barely visible. Yet when I pause at the top something awakens in me – faith, fear, hope, a trust in something deeper within. So I lay down on the earth. Rocking side to side, halfway between swaddling myself and building momentum, it happens – I tip over and begin to roll. Rolling, rolling, rolling, the momentum builds, the freedom grows and the feat dissipates replaced by exhilaration, Oh the joy of letting go! I arrive at the bottom of the hill, heart racing, head spinning, exhausted, exalted, so happy and good.

Why do I not pick this path more often?

Here I stand, majestic and strong, yet made of sand, absorbent soft powder at my core. I
tell the stories of yesterday and project the tales of tomorrow.

Shadows dance across my body with the rising and falling sun, casting me in varying lights, colors and hues…and yet I remain just the one.

I provide protection, perspective, and proof of something greater in my simple, steady form.

I am…that is all.

Amongst the trees and weeds on the surface of the earth there exists a small temple. This temple shines in complexity but exists so humbly, fitting in seamlessly with its surroundings and still like nothing else around.

It takes a lot of work to maintain this temple.  Despite all that work, the floors become scuffed, the walls become marred and the temple begins to lose its original sheen as life happens. Somehow the temple is just as beautiful with all its imperfections and the work goes on to preserve, protect and maintain it through the unspoken bonds between caretaker and sanctuary, the interwoven threads between me and the temple of my heart.

I am the artist of the landscape of my garden. I choose which flowers take center stage, carefully pruning and growing my favorites and pulling up those plants that dare to wander across the border imposing on my design. I call them weeds and yet many have divinely beautiful flowers, intricately colored and shaped leaves and so prolifically grow. The difference seems to be that they don’t ft my way of thinking. They come in from outside the edges – they uninvitedly cross the boundaries of the expected. So, I pluck them up quite furiously.

But, today I decided instead to notice the beauty they bring, the contrast, the free expression of something unfamiliar and unexpected. I allowed the boundaries of my garden to expand. I welcomed the unexpected guests in and the garden suddenly seemed more beautiful.

I have left myself a small path on which I can find the familiar. But these days I’m much less fussy about the weeds.