my inner self is a garden and I am its caretaker
I think of my inner self as a garden; one that I own, but I share. I don't keep a fence around it, but instead there are two tall concentric hedges encircling it, with openings in each which do not overlap. I don't keep anyone out, but I also don't let people in without a bit of effort on their part. Once inside, you can find many little garden plots where people have come in and shared their plants with me. Some planted only annuals, and those died long ago, but some of their seeds have become new plants scattered around the whole garden. Some planted perennials, and a few planted trees. Some scattered a lot of seed but then didn't water anything and nothing grew. Some have neglected their plantings, and a few have ripped up what they planted, and one or two salted the ground where their plants once grew. Sometimes when people stop caretaking their plot, I wait too long for them to come back and plants die: I've learned to keep watch on those places that are becoming neglected, and take over care if it is not happening.
More numerous than the gardens are scattered, wild growths of a wide variety of plants, given by one-time visitors or dropped in as seed from the universe. Many of these are from people who simply scatter seed which I gather and bring in. Artists, musicians, and writers who have never visited nonetheless are the source of so many plants.
In the center is where I have done most of my own planting, and there are several very old trees there, including one that died early and fell over, crushing a number of saplings. That would be my first faith - following its root path and growing very fast is a younger tree, much-grafted, which is my current faith. When I find a plant in my garden that I especially love, I transplant it to the center (in this magical garden the plants don't mind that). The only ones I can't transplant are trees. Those who plant trees have a permanent place of their own in my garden, and can always come back and share with me again. Anyone who has planted a tree has my utmost gratitude even if they no longer visit my garden.
For a long time my garden changed little -- now it changes so rapidly that I imagine those who come back after absence might get a bit lost.
I am exceedingly picky about who can remain as a gardener. If you trample things on purpose, you are out, and I'll sic the spiders and snakes and carnivorous plants on you if you try to come back in. If you crush plants by accident, I will try to help you figure out a way to avoid that, but if it is not possible, I will ask you to leave until you have the skills to remain without causing damage. Often people leave for a time and come back later. No one has the right to move what I have planted, or to tell me what I should plant, uproot, or transplant. If they try to, they will be put out. No one has the right to be in my garden, ever, and I do not pull people in even if they feel I should (such as biofamily). It is forever and only a transitory sharing.
More numerous than the gardens are scattered, wild growths of a wide variety of plants, given by one-time visitors or dropped in as seed from the universe. Many of these are from people who simply scatter seed which I gather and bring in. Artists, musicians, and writers who have never visited nonetheless are the source of so many plants.
In the center is where I have done most of my own planting, and there are several very old trees there, including one that died early and fell over, crushing a number of saplings. That would be my first faith - following its root path and growing very fast is a younger tree, much-grafted, which is my current faith. When I find a plant in my garden that I especially love, I transplant it to the center (in this magical garden the plants don't mind that). The only ones I can't transplant are trees. Those who plant trees have a permanent place of their own in my garden, and can always come back and share with me again. Anyone who has planted a tree has my utmost gratitude even if they no longer visit my garden.
For a long time my garden changed little -- now it changes so rapidly that I imagine those who come back after absence might get a bit lost.
I am exceedingly picky about who can remain as a gardener. If you trample things on purpose, you are out, and I'll sic the spiders and snakes and carnivorous plants on you if you try to come back in. If you crush plants by accident, I will try to help you figure out a way to avoid that, but if it is not possible, I will ask you to leave until you have the skills to remain without causing damage. Often people leave for a time and come back later. No one has the right to move what I have planted, or to tell me what I should plant, uproot, or transplant. If they try to, they will be put out. No one has the right to be in my garden, ever, and I do not pull people in even if they feel I should (such as biofamily). It is forever and only a transitory sharing.