Garden of my Heart


When I moved into my current home there was no garden. There was a grove of trees up in the corner and a few leggy, pink petunias pretending to be a flowerbed. There was scrubby grass and hard dirt in abundance. In other words, there was nothing. Over the years, I have broken my back and my bank balance in an attempt to transform my garden.

I love the birds. There’s not a morning that I don’t listen for them. They are my morning alarm. I love the tall trees that shut me off from neighbours, making this a little sanctuary away from the noise of the world. I love my tall African sky. I love the pool, paid for, ironically, by TV scripts written for Ethiopia. But I have been unfaithful to my love.

My garden has had to bear the brunt of my emotional landscape. After a particularly hard time a few years back, I abandoned my garden. The grass was mowed, the plants were watered, but I didn't kneel and dig my fingers into the earth. The worms were found by the hadedas, not by my spade. The orange fire of clivias blossomed despite my neglect.

I can remember an April day, sitting at the edge of the pool, broken (I thought), beyond repair. I can remember a hot, December afternoon and the phone call to tell me that my brother, Mike, had died. My only solution to that horror was to go out into the garden and mow the lawn. Restoring order to the grass seemed to help me restore order to my soul.

My garden is not just a place of sorrow. It was here that Julia and I, surrounded by friends and family, were married. As I write this, I can hear the wind chimes that were bought to remember that day, stirring. Here is the place where we gather for lunches and braais. Somehow, in the roots planted so long ago, love was planted too.

It’s time for me to go back into my garden. I have plans for a new garden space that will require knocking down a wall. There’s a perfect spot for a meditation bench at the top of the garden. There are things to be done.

I’m saying it’s the garden that needs work, but I know it’s not really that faithful outside space, it’s the garden of my heart that needs to wake to a new season. Yes, here too, there are walls to be broken down and things to be planted.


Perhaps the garden of your heart could do with a little weeding? Or, let's just share a prayer mat together.

I place my prayer mat  
Beneath a high-domed Cathedral sky
Where words fly on Sparrow wing
Into the infinite Blue ear of god.

(This is an extract from my poem 'Cathedral Sky' as published in 'Landscapes of Courage'.)

Comments

  1. Anonymous17 September 2014 at 11:37

    This just summaries my emotional landscape too

    ReplyDelete
  2. http://www.best-essays.co.uk/15 December 2015 at 05:09

    You write about your garden like about the reflection of your soul. Really nice reading.

    ReplyDelete

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