home...in the garden of eden.

 May the long time sun shine upon you

And may all love surround you

And the pure light within you,

Guide you on your way on.

-kundalini prayer

I believe "home" is nowhere to be found until you have found yourself. This is my Garden Of Eden. This is my home...

    

Among the relic and ensconced roots that tangle below our melodramatic thorns of emotions and trauma, lie the seeds we've unconsciously planted since our unexplained birth. The years have passed now and the seeds have bloomed. We've entered our very own Garden of Eden, a greenhouse of life on the verge of death, defunct and parched, starving for sympathy's waters. We've planted fruitless vines, and we've eaten the one-and-only apple over and over again. We've tasted the luscious fruit and we've savored it's promised pain. We've voyaged across the murky swamps of circumstance and drifted into the ocean of thought flooding our minds and stifling our faith, a much required faith that seems to go where ever the wind blows, leaving us faithless below a motionless sky. We're at fear's beck and call, never really utilizing our God given strength to let anything go, and never really arriving at our destination--"home". And yet, there is still a holy energy guiding us secretly and quietly, pumping life back into our broken hearts. Our soul is always present, though we may be totally absent, lost in our wretched thinking, the soul is attendant and ever-so hospitable to this very waking moment. It's this very instant, the here and now, that our purpose in life depends on. If we're somewhere else, our purpose is too. We transport our bodies and minds back to the past and into the future on a day-to-day basis, but it's our essence and our truth that longs to be still and move forward. It's a paradox. To me, this is a life worth living but only after we realize the real meaning of "living". To live is to push above and beyond our shit, our needy little self. To live is to put a stop to our consistent and relentless carelessness toward one another--an ill treatment prescribed by the needy little self. To live and to actually love someone else, not just say it, but do it, is the only authentic life there is to know, and it exists outside of the illusions of the needy little self, the ego. 

That white-picked fence we've all imagined in the midst of a daydream, the one that circles around our garden of merit now in decline and decay, has rotted and withered away as well. What was once assembled by our very own two hands in the midst of a romantic and attractive vision, has now become a delusive hope in obtaining the "perfect little life". Some of us have even traded in love and compassion in aims to live a life more phantom, more feasible to the five senses. And so that deteriorating, pretty little barricade we call a white-picked, silly fence, now stands flimsy and oblique uprooted from the dirt in our minds and the unbalanced earth in our hearts. We painted the perfect picture and portrayed the perfect pain. Perfection to me, is a journey to death. And on this journey toward death, our garden wilts, droops, and ultimately perishes, becoming nothing more than a story we live to tell, the story of Adam and Eve. The story of our very own life.

Though we die one day, we are not death. We are life and we are Light. And with the Light, there is dark. There's a dusk and there's a dawn. Our own shadow stalks us, we can't escape it. Pain lives with us life after life, day after day, but affliction is like a guru, it can guide us to triumph. The bright and luminous vitality within us marches us beyond the obscurity of life and the persuasive voice of doubt. This is the Light inside of our garden. This is our garden of hope. When we trust our selves enough to actually hear our own voice, the voice of honesty, we will know the way back home. When we tear down the walls and rise above our impulsive needs and false obligations to protect ourselves from pain, Heaven's raindrops will fall from the sky and nurture our thirsty souls and our sacred land where the seeds endlessly blossom. We become simple. There is a simple me and there is a simple you. And, we already have the answers to all our questions. We just have to "head home" and water the garden. Let a little Light shine down.

Love and Light to you & Many blessings,
Anne-Marie