The Once Invisible Garden, Laura Foley
How did I come to be
this particular version of me,
and not some other, this morning
of purple delphiniums blooming,
like royalty--destined
to meet these three dogs
asleep at my feet, and not others--
this soft summer morning,
sitting on her screened porch
become ours, our wind chime,
singing of wind and time,
yellow-white digitalis
feeding bees and filling me--
and more abundance to come:
basil, tomatoes, zucchini.
What luck or fate, instinct,
or grace brought me here?--
in shade, beneath hidden stars,
a soft, summer morning,
seeing with my whole being,
love made visible.
*Paid subscribers, you’ll find a grounding practice at the end that is meant to bring you back into your body.
This past week I had a hard time focusing. I’d sit down to write, to create words or lesson plans, and I’d find myself instantly distracted, jumping to my phone to check messages or Facebook, look at the news, flip the laundry, or stare at my computer screen blankly. With news both in the world and locally pressed against my heart, I had limited capacity for creation or to even follow a train of thought to its end.
This is a sign of an overwhelmed nervous system. I had to pay very close attention this past week for glimpses of something other than chaos, something other than the unfathomable. Instead of looking for meaning and inspiration, instead of trying to make meaning, I could only get very small, very quiet, very still. Each time I tried to do something more than take slow and quiet walks outside or make a cup of tea, I felt like the lights inside me had gone out and I was bumping around in a dark room of my own thoughts, anxieties, distractions.
This week I have only to offer this very simple reflection as a gesture of connection for you who feel your nervous system overwhelmed, you who can’t take in one more thing, you can’t figure out where to turn your attention, you who want to know there is something beautiful left to hold your weary attention.
I offer you this simplicity: perhaps go outside, find something that you know is love made visible. Love made visible. That line of poetry became the trees in my local park, shimmering through low morning fog. It became a delicious bag of popcorn a friend gifted me with that I nibbled slowly as I walked through town on a breezy fall day. It became bright red and yellow apples, crisp and slightly tart, that another friend laid in my hand. Love made visible in colored leaves, bright blue sky, a sunrise.
This week, the only way I could settle into a space that felt whole and grounded, available and alive, was to see tangible signs of love around me. Perhaps you, too, friend. If you are weary and overwhelmed, take some part of this day. Hold out your weary hands, receptive to the gift that might be. Love made visible. May it be for you today and in the week ahead.