Thursday, October 29, 2009

Reflections from the Garden




Everything was perfect...

Until God created women...

That's for the people who have a hard time dealing with women.

Everything was perfect...

Until God created mankind. The planet was clean and the animals were safe from becoming a hamburger.

That's for the people who have a hard time dealing with being human and having to live with other humans.

Take three...

Everything was perfect...

Until God was created. There was no war, no conflict and everything was absolutely rational.

yeah right.

How about everything IS perfect... end of confusion :)

JNET

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Crushed Petals


My mother had a habit of saving flowers that had significant meaning to her. I would find the occasionally random flower pressed between pages of a book. It would be a nice surprise and mom would be happy to tell a story about the flower.

It's nice to think of loved ones through the little momentos they leave.

But what do we do with something the opposite of those pressed flowers?

Someone I was dating but did not feel ready to consider for a serious commitment decided to leave behind momentos that do not inspire warm feelings from me. Behind photo frames, he took the time to write hurtful commentary. And very recently, in my own computer, I found that he wrote a journal spanning almost half the year, complaining about me.

And yet, he gave me flowers and smiled and did things that made me feel very surprised to find his terrible thoughts calling me fearful and divided. He was also angry that I take all my friends to my favorite place, the Huntington Gardens because he wanted to call it our place. I've been going there for years with my family and friends....

And then he lists all the things he does for me and the sacrifices he made (though I did not ask) when he took care of me when I was sick. He wouldn't let anyone else take care of me, not even myself.

So instead of having sweet memories during this time while I take some time to myself, I have crushed bitter petals left to be found at random places as I clean and organize my space. In my private space, he did not leave sweet messages to linger over but rather bitter ones.

He left me home with his bitterness. In my solitude, left to wonder what it means.

And yet, he still says his hellos which I find hard to believe....

This is today's message from him:

Whether I'm happy or sad
Being good or being bad
I may be working or playing
Standing still or maybe dancing
It matters not what I do
I'm always thinking of you

Thinking of what? Of crushing my heart to his delight?

Here's a segment of what he left in my computer while taking care of me while sick... Something I never demanded of him....

"June 10, 2009

I had planned to go out and see friends. I cancelled my plans to take care of you because you were sick.

June 11-13, 2009

Still with you. Cancelled appointments and my weekend plans because I wanted to take care of you.

June 14, 2009

Missed the final Laker game. I missed church. All to stay with you."

I want to marry the kindest person I can find. I don't feel like my heart is safe with this one.... I'm sorry to find crushed petals.

JNET

Sunday, September 27, 2009

The Sky Suns Me


Would the sky ask the flower to grow yellow instead of pink? Would the sky fault a flower's beauty as a bud? Would a flower find fault in the sky if it had too many clouds or too little?

How patient the sky and flowers are with each another.

If only people can be as complementary to one another.

I enjoy the certainty of love from my friends and my family... where conflicts are weathered as temporary changes of temperature that never destroy gardens. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is as sure as the sun returning after a dance with the clouds.

"The sky suns me." thinks the flower as it breaks through the earth towards the warmth.

"The sky suns me." thinks the flower as it is a seed and doesn't know what it is.

"The sky suns me." thinks the flower while it takes the rain.

Even though it may rain, even though a cold day may stretch a spell, I'd like to feel the way a flower feels about the sky with certainly and affection... the sky suns me. And the gray sky will turn bright again. The flower lets the sky be the sky and the flower gets to enjoy being a flower; growing to bloom season after season.

Is there compromise in being here? Is there any lack of freedom here? Does resentment grow in gardens? Does the sun dream of fencing in the flowers?

Of many people, I think of love like the flower.... the certainty that the sky suns me.

JNET