A chain of events has been occurring. Small things. Moments here and there. Little dots I dare not join up because I already see the picture they are forming. A whisper comes along through the mountain road and I claim it as my own. A tree bares itself wide open against the blue winter sky and I click it safely into a picture frame. I am careful to keep all the pieces lined up and separate lest they form a distinguishable whole, one that might call me out into the light.
Last night I dreamt that I went out into the garden. It was raining and I was not alone. The water was pooling in the vegetable beds and running in rivers down the path. In the centre was a large raised bed and standing upright in it were three tall grapevines. "Wow" I said to my companion in the garden. "I didn't realize I had grown grapes, I don't remember planting them at all. Look how big they have gotten, how did I not even know they were here?" My companion did not seem impressed. And so I looked again, and looked closer. The vines were brown and withered, standing barren beneath the falling rain. I was not so easily discouraged, "Oh Well," I said "At least I tried, right? I mean, look they got pretty big!" My companion was silent, but His silence said so much. I woke up in a vacuum and lay alone in bed with my thoughts, my mind telling me it was nothing while my heart beat out an undeniable and difficult truth.
I hold all the reins to my life and pull on them so tightly and impatiently. I listen to myself all day long and then I hang up the receiver. I work through my inbox of problems and my outbox of solutions. I juice my greens, do my yoga and then I call it a day. Somewhere along the way, I have forgotten that there is more. That there is a vineyard always being planted and tended to, and when I choose not to see it, it dies. I spend so much time in my own garden, carefully nurturing and cutting back, growing and harvesting. I have forgotten that to someone else, I too am a garden.
I have forgotten. It is not about me.
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