Metaphor of a garden- the fritillary, the hummingbird and the dragonfly: What instills peace in the creative soul. It seems it is simpler and more complex than perhaps the outside person looking in can fathom. It is not necessarily the state nor the actual meaning of an event, it is more the feeling and that moment when for some strange reason things make sense, even if for just a moment.
Let’s start off with a garden, a garden that has been a metaphor for many things in this creatives’ life. Perhaps it’s the helplessness and neediness of this particular years crop that has inspired my introspection.
We got more water than we have this year, having gotten out of a major drought, what’s new in the state of Texas. Unfortunately I think my plants have gotten spoiled as they seem more needy than they have in past years. I have always bragged that the kind of plants that I have chosen don’t need me to tend them at all, they grow, they react to the heat and they recover.
This year, the recovery has been more labored, even losing many of my prized plants that at one time in my manic state of building the perfect garden seemed to be such an important aspect and draw of my attention. Now they wither, they scream at the surface, begging for the gardener to be the gardener he professed to be.
It’s not unlike raising kids, these days my irrelevance seems to be eating me alive due to my sons metamorphosis to a full fledged teen rearing to be anywhere but with me. Luckily having raised what I profess to be a pretty special kid I have gotten to enjoy wonderful blooms of his youthful colors without him insisting I leave him alone. We watched two movies last night and again, the simplicity and perfection of that special time is just what this post is all about. Luckily I keep enough water in the house and he even carries a jug around so my lack of care and attention would never be noticed quite like the garden that screams when it has been neglected.
Being a parent, we either neglect our children or we neglect ourselves and our own identity, in this instance I think I’m the one that is shriveling up from lack of attention. I feel the garden is screaming out the state of how I feel, thirsty and missing something. The yellow leaves, the parched broken earth all seem to be signs of a lack of nourishment.
My creativity, my writing has always been my nourishment so during points of block I appear to be starving, withering in the oppressive summer of this life. Now, don’t take this like I am whining, I am the lucky one, I am so blessed but I am missing something, that solitude, the introspection seems to be what I need and nature is always the catalyst for my healing.
This point of my life seems to be the point of harvest. The fruits of seventeen years of labor are coming to be more amazing than I could ever even have imagined. Now there is sadness in this beauty of success, just like the emotion you feel at a graduation or a wedding-it is the beginning of a new point in our lives that is wonderful and exciting as it is sad and a bit emotional. So what to do with this creative? I know a new life is on the horizon, just like the seeds that are already in the ground ready for next spring, I am excited but being creative we feel everything with equal measure.
