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It’s Shaumbra Heartbeat time again. But, with everything else going on this week, the well of inspiration has run a little dry. I know the potentials are already there and everything is already written; I’ll just have to dig a little deeper this time.

Driving home from the first day of the online Aspectology school, the sky is gray. A storm is coming, and I ask my Self, “What are we going to write for Shaumbra this time?” For a moment, my attention is drawn by traffic, then I have the feeling that my inner self has wandered into a different reality, pulled a book from the shelf of a hidden library, and opened it up for me to experience, right then and there on my way home…

Through the low hanging clouds a shadow looms, swelling into the senses long before the eyes take note of the darkening horizon. The whisper of a gentle breeze now charges with the pulsing beat of wings, accompanied by a shiver of understanding: The day of reckoning has arrived. Chilly clouds ooze mist, softening the frigid, barren landscape, but the promise of coming fire banishes all sensation of cold.

The Dragon is here.

This is a landscape weary and forlorn. Struggles adorn the fields, having settled in a thousand centuries past, grinding themselves deep into the earth until they seem part of the bedrock. Sorrow and Longing have torn gashes in the fertile soil of creation, clogging its life with their seductive poison tendrils. The blindness called Lack has choked out the life-giving rays of creation, turning the once verdant land into a brittle shell. Any tender shoots of Hope are swallowed by the rusty weavings of the Past.

And yet, scattered here and there a flower blooms, birthed by the insistence of an inextinguishable light. Each bloom a spark of color in the gray, a fleeting choice too easily overlooked – the deep warm violet of Allowing, the brilliant green of Trust, richest crimson of Forgiveness, pure and precious white of simple Knowing. Hidden in the crevices and shallows, their strength disguised as fragile beauty, these magic flowers burst to life when least expected. But in the desperate rush to possess one found, their roots are often trampled. Crushed beneath the weight of order, history and expectation, they withdraw until another moment of unexpected blessing.

Light – sweet golden light – cannot hide forever. With only pure desire to express, simplicity ensures it of success. However, Struggle does not welcome light, nor do Sorrow, Longing, Lack and Shame. Their reasons for existence, scribed deeply in the shadows of their pain, are reluctant to be erased by consciousness. And so they hide, embedding deeper in the land with their excuses. But now, their day has come.

The Creator has been sleeping, mostly unaware of the ancient grime clogging up her unkempt garden. In dreams she sees and loves and knows of its creation, for a part of her lingers deep within the forgetful landscape of experience. Slowly, almost imperceptibly it grew – pebbles of Disappointment bloating into boulders of Struggle; moments of Woe twisting into lifetimes of Sorrow; slivers of Doubt rising into spires of Shame and Guilt. A garden of Experience indeed it has been, and She is waking now, ready at last to prune and trim and plow and burn away the wreckage of amnesia.

She stirs, her memory awakening, the trickle of awareness soon cascading in a waterfall of wisdom. Daunting it is, to see what must be done. Boulders of Struggle to blow up, blinders of Lack and Scarcity to set aside, scraps of Doubt and Sorrow in the rubbish heap, for the garbage truck is on its way. The clean-up has taken years of love and trust, for beneath one boulder lies another, and every morning reveals another waiting demolition. But the landscape is much clearer now. The dry and crusty shreds of history have yielded wisdom from their thorns, the garden lies ready for its life to finally blossom.

What about the rubble still remaining? How much more effort will it take to clear the dust and stains? Ah, the time has come for something else. Creator is awake, her garden landscape’s ready, and so it comes. The Dragon.

She breathes a fire of love so deep that all un-loved is burned to ash. The thorns, the boulders, the gashes and spires – they all are quite combustible, it seems. Struggle, Lack, Doubt and Shame shrivel beneath her loving breath. To an unwise eye, the destruction is severe, a blazing incineration of things long held dear. But Dragon knows their value is falsely placed, and she loves them into naught but mulch. Astonishingly, the fragile blooms of Trust and Allowing seem to thrive, as if the searing radiance is what they crave.

Creator watches – participating, burning, thriving and transforming along with her creation. She knows not suffering, only pure experience. She rejoices in the renewal of her love, her life, her garden. The Dragon – fluid, crystalline, compassionate ferocity – purrs within her now, no longer separate from its Self. The frigid, barren landscape comes alive, glowing in a constant renewal as light itself distills and blooms in every corner. Color bursts and births itself anew, a cacophony of love transformed. Old struggles are forgotten, old shame has melted into solid gold, lack is unable to exist. Life has come alive within itself.

Creator walks within her garden now, its richness nurtured by the ashes of the past, the Dragon at her side… or are its rumbling wings now beating as the butterfly within her heart? She marvels at the dream she dreamt. So real it was, the color lost beneath the weight of life unloved. She smiles, the golden light a little brighter. She has a thriving garden to explore, and wisdom eyes with which to see.

1 comments on "Garden of Creation"

  • Tania on April 27, 2019 3:03 AM said:
    I just love this Jean. Especially “the colour list beneath the weight of life unloved”. Thank you for the inspiration x

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