As if it were words channeled from energetic sequences into letters and sounds audible to the human you recognize.
Whether mind or soul.
This space is limitless.
What if everything you said, was being recorded. What if everything you're going to say, is prerecorded. What if everything you have said is recorded and stored. What if it is not the words that we say, but the energy behind those words themselves that have meaning. The ‘message ‘of the feeling, that moves us. Like feeling shared emotion from afar.
I'm supposed to tell you something of a story.
A snippet of one life; I found a garden.
One of these gardens was a survival garden. It never grew past his infancy, except for one family of beans. Lima, to be exact. There might have been a total of three immature beans that ever grew in the dim little sunlight.
Very little sunlight.
An epidemic started; It turned into a pandemic.
These seeds were given to me by a friend, another star seed. They were for when the world ended, never expected to be used.
They were used.
When worlds shut down, there is nothing to do.
I knew it was time to grow. Little did I know, it had nothing to do with gardens, had nothing to do with seeds, had nothing to do with plants; it had everything to do with life. Had everything to do with signs: intuition; messages; symbols; pulling guidance moving through us.
In late winter, in dim light, indoors, in isolation, to symbolize birth & death & the cycles between. Water them, it has nothing to do with the plants.
It had to do with hope.
It had to do with love.
This garden is different, it started from dirt and red cups. And started from a seed five years before. In a dark desert space, full of the unexplored potential. This is garden number one.
The plan(t)s started to grow.
Seeds sprouting too.
The world shut. Office door shut. Craniosacral practice shut. Had to move. I wanted to do this when I was 19 it took me until I was 39. Just as much as you want to believe the timeline of our insights is accurate, we rarely understand the patience it needs…before we give up and say we failed and never completed that which we knew was destined for us.
She was a beauty.
She was full of cut flowers.
Used for celebrations that were closed for the year. Most farms were not accepting volunteers. There are just a few that would consider with the proper quarantine. They were filling up with people moving outside of cities as the East Coast exploded with virus.
I had two thoughts.
Food source and sanity.
Had two more thoughts: friends and community. What kind of community can you find when no venues are open, no new friends can be made, Venus is closed, Mars hit the road, everything went remote. Now at 6 feet, with masks on her face. Community is what I found in garden number two.
He was known for his dahlias.
I asked if he had paid work.
Not at the moment, but fill out this application. I gave my reference from garden number two. He called me a few days later. Said I might have a job for you, she is looking for a Gardner. She is an old friend.
Knows what she wants.
Help her peonies.
In a month we would meet. She was having health issues and her husband broke his wrist on a bicycle. I flew back to California. I drove across the country. I camped along. I needed my car to visit the gardens. I brought my gloves. My new boots.
She is tall.
Smart, witty, good bones. Socialization had come to a halt for months. She busted balls. Contractors fell. Male position; female life. Two characters finding laughter in the absurd.
Full of weeds.
Behind due to health. I would be her back. Her suntan, until I got sick myself. Dead head resilience. I found crazy town. This is garden number three.
Jamie ‘Jasper’ Winters