I love every day of my life and I am not suggesting, when I make this statement, that my life is easy, but rather and more importantly, my life is beautiful, both when its hard and when its easy.
This is how I see my life:
My life is a striking garden, filled with the most magnificent of flowers, scented bushes and indigenous trees. It has gently flowing water features that sing soft tranquil songs. There are paved paths leading to little benches sitting under the shade of motheringtrees, offering shelter from their wide branches. My garden has a small stream flowing through it, the source of which is a nearby mountain and is pure, even chilled and ready-to-drink.
Birds and an abundance of insect life have their homes in my garden. There are nests of every sort, a hive in a tree for a large colony of (very busy) bees.
My garden is a perfumery, where the skills of the great Master Perfumer infuse their extraordinary fragrances that evolve with each moment of the day and night.
My garden is a haven of peace in the stillness of the early morning, before the rays of sun, birds and insects, bring forth her radiant glory. She brings forth her, out-of-the-ordinary fragrance, for those who will venture into this very exclusive time of day – when moon and stars rule the heavens – all others are still asleep; only the Watcher, who seeks to drink deeply of her offerings. The Watcher comes, whilst the sun is bidding farewell to foreign lands, far away.
The Watcher, who breathes in her fragrance of the dew on the grass and leaves, the earth as it offers its nourishment of new life, to all who would grow there. All the while, each one makes ready for the arrival of the sun, heralding the new day.
The Watcher, who comes to greet the Master Perfumer, here in this paradise of my garden, whilst all is yet still – whilst the voice of the Perfumer can be easily heard.
I rise up, for now the sun has announced her arrival – first with shades of orange tint on the great clouds above and then to the greeting of the community of birds and insects, gratefully hailing the sun for her arrival.
The Watcher greets his day in chorus with the others and sets about his tasks for the new day, grateful for his garden, grateful for his life and the opportunity of yet another day!
Later in the heat of the day the great white clouds do gather in the sky above, now joined by the winds and also darker clouds, the sun, gracefully steps aside, as her place is above all this feverish gathering. The wind, in cyclone fever, makes her presence known; she dances among the trees and they twist, sway, bow and join in tune to her song – they dance and their branches begin to clap. The community fly to the safety of their nests and hives, those that dwell beneath the ground, taking refuge from the celebration of which they cannot take part. For this is the celebration of the wind, clouds, dancing and clapping trees, the fire of the lightning bolts and the thundering heavens.
Now the rain arrives, most loved of all elements, the ice, who promises much nourishment to the soil, which holds all together. Leaves take to flight in all directions, grateful for their small part on the celebration stage.
Slowly, almost unnoticed, the tempo of the celebration settles into gentle soft droplets, assuring the earth of its full promise of nutrition. The thunder and lightning bow off the stage, leaving the clouds to continue the next performance on a parched theater awaiting their arrival with deep expectation.
The Watcher begins to clap; he honors the performers, who wave as they move off the stage.
The Watcher smiles, as he has learned that, there is no paradise in his garden, without the customary visits of the performers, who stir up a halcyon commotion, forcing all to break out of the routine of daily harmony and to join the celebration of the Master Perfumer’s life giving sustenance.
The Watcher observes that in the stillness of the shows aftermath, the community, once again emerge from their shelters and continue with their harvest, they neither fear, nor complain about the show – they have never been taught how to do that – they are just grateful and thankful for the keeper of my garden – The great Master Perfumer.
The Watcher has drunk deeply of the sorrows, pains and times of loneliness of this life; but these are no longer meaningful to him as they have become fading memories in the light of his beautiful garden of joy, peace and tranquility.
For he has discovered, that whilst he has flown on the wings of the wind and flirted with the sun, far above the tempest staged below, there was peace above and below, in his world.
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