The Garden of Life

When I was about 23 years old, I decided I would write a novel. Which I never ever did, of course. But the novel was going to be about a gardener, who tended this garden without knowing whose garden it was. He spent all day alone, looking after the garden and then one day something happens, he find this box - a box made of green malachite and the story then begins.

Anyhow, nearly 30 years later, and many strange adventures, I was lying in bed this morning and writing in my journal. It was very quiet and very beautiful. I was thinking that this was my year for gratitude. This year I would not waste one minute on stupidity and by stupidity, I mean thinking of the things which I lacked. Instead, I would look at all the things which I had - and these were many and plentiful and I was so grateful. Everything time and life and being on this green Earth has given me, I will cherish and adore. And be thankful for. I have everything which I want and I want nothing more - or less.

And of course, my terrible habit has been worrying about things which I lack. Why isn't this like that? I see that this is wrong now - because and then an image came to my head of unripened fruit. It then occurred to me that everything will eventually be picked. Everything will eventually ripen and be ready for harvest or sacrifice. In which case, me worrying about things which aren't 'perfect' is like worrying about an unripened fruit. In a garden of abundance?!?! How ridiculous is that? And sure, if they never ripened, maybe they weren't meant to ripen. No amount of worrying could force that fruit. Or flower. Furthermore, when I have made a 'mistake' in gardening, it isn't to correct the mistake as such, but to learn to garden better the next time. And here is where the metaphor gets gnarly, here is where time plays those wonderful tricks - the mistake, the unripened fruit, that will eventually resolve itself. Eventually. All I need to do is be the loving gardener. I do not lose my temper at the vine, nor do and scold it, nor to I blame the tree, nor myself.

Every year life gives me something unexpected on my birthday - and this year, this was IT. This was the unexpected thing which it gave me - this image of the garden. This image of my life as a gardener and me as the gardener. Suddenly I saw myself in this wonderful garden of flowers and fruit and bees and a pond and shade and this is my garden, I have returned to the light.

As I look back on my 40s, well, not all of them, but the seven years which have passed I can see how much I have transformed. There have been some very difficult lessons, but they have all been good. And I feel like I have walked through the fire and emerged on the other side better, cleaner, purer. I have given my all - been asked to give my all - some days I didn't think I would have anything to go on, but go on I did. And I am here.

Here, sitting in my winter garden.

So, what am I going to do with this realisation, this insight? I am going to honour life. I am going to tell life how grateful I am for everything it has given to me, by giving back to it. Cherishing everything which I have. Swimming in its current. Softening, astonishing, being grateful, deeply appreciative. Dismantling my cynicism, believing, delighting. It feels like time has stood still and everything is happening all at once. The Garden of Earthly Delights.

The other thing is that I can see myself clearly. I mean who can ever see themselves clearly, right, but I see myself. I no longer depend on others to do this for me. There is a hint of self sufficiency which must not turn into smugness. I am not putting this right... but then just another image came to me - that of waking from a dream. That's what it feels like - like I have moved from one state of being into another. It is as if I have been in a state of dreaming, which was right for what I was, to being woken up. And now, awake, I see that the life I had previously was a dream and now, I am awake, into my real life. I suppose, what it is like is a little bit like I have shed something and now inhabit a new skin. It is like I have, without knowing it, prepared myself in a chrysalis and I have emerged into a new state. But I am still my old self, but transformed.

Outside I hear robins and birthday rain. The little knockings made by watery fists upon the roof of the conservatory. They drip and drop and they rattle. I have everything I need here. In this moment I am complete, life is complete. There is everything which I have ever needed, I see that now.