Don't just buy me a pretty bouquet to decorate my bedside table, although the early morning greeting of color is always welcome.
Plant me a garden of my own.
Plant peonies who's soft petals and lingering fragrance are like your gentle first-of-the-morning kisses when your lips are the perfect firmness and temperature - like the overflowing lengths and depths of petals of the heirloom doubles that have different layers - like the moments where our kisses can go on in the depths of the morning through the afternoon, and if not careful, through the entirety of a weekend.
Plant tulips so that after the cold of winter the first burst of color stands out against the dirty, dormant ground. A reminder that tender, soft beauty and peace can be found after the cold rejections of disagreement.
Plant roses of all colors. The tightly bundled petals slowly relax and expand to reveal a large bloom full of fragrance - to remind me how you slowly pulled me out of my tightly wound, thick walls to reveal who I really am - and yet, still with a few thorns that you are well aware of and know how to avoid. Although you enjoy watching what happens when someone doesn't realize what they are grabbing onto and they get stuck when they deserve it.
Plant hyacinths that are the first smell of heaven in the new year; lilacs that take over in the giving of the smell of heaven as spring moves into summer; and honeysuckle that takes us through the rest of the fall. Like you walking in to the room to collect our things as we get to head out and take the town smelling like we really aren't going to be out as long as we planned........your sweet, intoxicating smell will linger on all of me for days and every time I catch a moment of the fragrance it brings a smile with the range of sweet and passionate memories.
Plant poppies - their grand flowing petals to reflect the addiction I have to my dresses and flowy tops that fly around me as you tightly sway with me and spin me around the dance floor.
Plant wildflowers and ferns in limited amounts and watch as they take over. Let their ability to multiply remind us each day how when we live unrestricted in love just how much it can grow and spread and take over to the point where in a short amount of time we can transplant - with roots - whole large amounts to those around us so they can have their own explosion of love not just own their bedside table, but with the nourishment from roots that have taken hold and run deep.
Plant hostas in the shady locations. Their gentle appearance, their differing texture and variegated details, their small blooms that attract hummingbirds and butterflies to show that even in the places where the sun is only visible in short glimpses beauty and grace can still be shown off and attract life to it. Sometimes the shade is the place we thrive and the intensity of the direct light would burn us up.
Plant lillies. Their tailored look, sharp details, unlimited range of colors and mixed designs to let me remember every amazing look we pulled off. Our hats and fabulous taste in shoes. Your ensembles and suits that turn heads in their combinations and refined taste. My dresses. The way you look on the casual days when you still rock anything you choose that make me stop and go, DAMN, that's the on that has my heart and steals my breath from across the room. The way I overdress for 85% of everything I do because.I.CAN. and you love me for it...even as you shake your head with that look on your face.
Plant lavender and other herbs. Each leaf or small branch when put under pressure releasing flavor, fragrance and oils. Anything that has pressed onto us from every side; every bad day; every heartache we marched through at the sides of each other - and at the sides of the ones we love; every dream we had to put off but finally achieved - EVERYTHING that tried to pummel and destroy us - we only added spice to, we added an explosion of positive to, we were pushed in such levels we overtook to where we were all that could be tasted in the dish that no one could stand to consume in the start.
Plant hollyhock, foxglove, glads, lupine, delphinium - the tall plants that in the bright sunlight which act as a border wall, protecting the smaller plants from the outside and adding life to a fence or a wall. The plants that might have to have a little bracing support but that don't burn up when they are the tallest, somewhat regal, members of the full-sun exposure group - but who also stand far enough back not to forcefully and intentionally overshadow those around it.
Plant vegetables and elements from an orchard so we never have to stop to fix a meal unless we want to. We can keep moving forward at top speeds and buzz by and grab a handful of fresh food that we can snack on as we make our way through the chores of life and as it quiets down create the most simple and tasteful feasts we can share with the bounty of our harvest.
Plant daisies and sunflowers. There are some flowers that will not allow you to be unhappy when they are in your presence. They are the flowers smiles are made of. The flowers bright spirits of made of. The flowers that when the day gets long you see and pause to breath deep. How, like laughter and a smile, one turns into two turns into 15 and then you get so lost in the joy you forget how bad the day was. The right placement of a single one can change an entire day.
Plant me a garden that will flow from before the last snow touches the ground until past the first frost of the season. Plant me a garden that in every season reminds us of our love. Plant me a garden that will never experience a down moment of color or life and allows us to select the finest beauty to bring in from the outside and fill every room of our home.
Plant me a garden that grows in all elements and thrives like each day - each day we make the choice to live in unity and love and in a combination of our differences that plays off one another to create unspeakable, breathtaking beauty instead of a competition of design and blooms.
Plant me a garden that has elements we can always give away, making the lives of others better and serve as a remind to them that great, passionate love of many colors and facets is possible and sharable.
Plant me a garden.......
I'll not let you do it alone.
I'll not let you tend it alone.
I'll not let you pull all the weeds that choke us out alone.
Plant US a garden.
La Sra.
(C) 5-31-15 Kristen Garcia.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Showers of Symphony
In the depth of the early morning a sound nudges me from my dreams.
In my slightly refreshed exhaustion it is as if almost every drop of rain hitting the metal of the roof, every petal of the tulips, the beginnings of the needled lavenders combine to create a melody.
And if I wasn't so wrapped up perfectly in my slumber, not so still sleepy, I could put lyrics to pen and create a song never heard. But the words stir around in my soul, but yet, I cannot pull them completely into my memory for later.
But the melody so perfect, the sound so sweet, it becomes a lullaby, allowing my tired soul to go back into peaceful rest.
But when I arise to take on my day I know the song was sweet, like I could almost see every note flowing from the falling rain when I turned in my bed to face the windows - but I couldn't hum it or replay it in my soul to share if asked. One of those beautiful mysteries that are better left saturating my soul than replayed in a realm that won't capture it perfectly.
-----------------------------
I saw the peaceful turn of your smile as you realized you did not wake for nothing. As your mind processed all the pieces together and the melody took you in.
I know of all the things in this world you have access to in this moment the one thing you love to wrap yourself in is music.
It has been your escape from the pain since you were just a child. The louder it was, the more you could feel it surround you the safer you felt.
But this morning - you didn't need it pushed to 11. You needed it just soft enough to hear as you woke, and yet, it still encased around you.
Instead of a wall to shield you from everything trying to tear you apart, trying to brace the cracks of your heart from the inside out - I wanted to try something new, something when you weren't in control of your environment.
And my plan succeeded. Nudged awake in time to hear a song just for you. One that I knew would make you glad I woke you up. One, that can prove that sometimes, the fortified shield isn't built the way you think it should be.
Rain on a roof; falling on beauty grown with blood, sweat and a few tears; the feel and smell of a fresh, warm spring morning; the memory of singing to the Oriole from the night before; the vocals of the praises of the birds awaking mixing to make a symphony.
For you. All for you. Just to see that slight upward turn of a sleepy smile, and finally get a chance to wrap you up my own, sweet, peace filled way.
--------------------------
(C) Kristen Garcia May 5, 2015.
In my slightly refreshed exhaustion it is as if almost every drop of rain hitting the metal of the roof, every petal of the tulips, the beginnings of the needled lavenders combine to create a melody.
And if I wasn't so wrapped up perfectly in my slumber, not so still sleepy, I could put lyrics to pen and create a song never heard. But the words stir around in my soul, but yet, I cannot pull them completely into my memory for later.
But the melody so perfect, the sound so sweet, it becomes a lullaby, allowing my tired soul to go back into peaceful rest.
But when I arise to take on my day I know the song was sweet, like I could almost see every note flowing from the falling rain when I turned in my bed to face the windows - but I couldn't hum it or replay it in my soul to share if asked. One of those beautiful mysteries that are better left saturating my soul than replayed in a realm that won't capture it perfectly.
-----------------------------
I saw the peaceful turn of your smile as you realized you did not wake for nothing. As your mind processed all the pieces together and the melody took you in.
I know of all the things in this world you have access to in this moment the one thing you love to wrap yourself in is music.
It has been your escape from the pain since you were just a child. The louder it was, the more you could feel it surround you the safer you felt.
But this morning - you didn't need it pushed to 11. You needed it just soft enough to hear as you woke, and yet, it still encased around you.
Instead of a wall to shield you from everything trying to tear you apart, trying to brace the cracks of your heart from the inside out - I wanted to try something new, something when you weren't in control of your environment.
And my plan succeeded. Nudged awake in time to hear a song just for you. One that I knew would make you glad I woke you up. One, that can prove that sometimes, the fortified shield isn't built the way you think it should be.
Rain on a roof; falling on beauty grown with blood, sweat and a few tears; the feel and smell of a fresh, warm spring morning; the memory of singing to the Oriole from the night before; the vocals of the praises of the birds awaking mixing to make a symphony.
For you. All for you. Just to see that slight upward turn of a sleepy smile, and finally get a chance to wrap you up my own, sweet, peace filled way.
--------------------------
(C) Kristen Garcia May 5, 2015.
Monday, March 30, 2015
You didn't have to die, Judas.
You were one I chose, one who was given to me, to be a part of my most inner circle.
For a season of a few years you walked by my side, shared in my home, saw my joy, heard my laughter - experienced my tears.
You were one of an elect few who saw me in my realest moments - the moments of strength, the moments that took all of my faith to keep walking forward, the moments where it seemed like everyone around me pulled my grace from me until I could no longer walk.
You had the greatest amount of access to me, yet you couldn't - or wouldn't - open your eyes to who I am.
Even seeing the depths of my love, peace and compassion - the expanse of the fire that flows through my bones and the explosiveness of my distaste for the abuse of the vulnerable - you still seethed in anger at me, yet I said not a word.
You waited. Maybe you thought I would break. Maybe you thought I wasn't who I said I was. Maybe you thought at any moment I would become the idol you had built in your mind that you desired me to become.
But I didn't live to those expectations. I kept walking the path ahead of me toward the end goal.
And it was there you had enough. When a jar broke open you saw in your greed money stolen from you that you would no longer have access to.
When a man laughed with me after having no breath in his body for days, your lack of faith drove your heart of stone into a furnace that hardened it more than ever.
And when I looked at you and said to do what was in your cold, hard, evil heart to do to me you stopped in your tracks. A mix of surprise and fear washed through your eyes, followed by a smile that dripped the most pure evil the world had seen. You ran as fast as you could. How could you deny that invitation?
You stalked me to my sanctuary. After I had poured my heart out in love and fasted and prayed for even you - you had eyes on my every move -
And you were waiting-
Waiting to let the blood thirsty hunger that had gone without satiety for years see a chance to drink in deep and quench their dry throats when I was snatched in my tired, weakened state.
Waiting to return my grace with you, my love for you, my silence when I knew you had stolen from me and hardened your heart toward me, with false accusations and a gang ready to beat me down and pay for what transgressions? For the transgression of love toward you? Toward the unlovely? Toward the poorest and greatest of sinners?
Waiting for the chance to greet me with a term of endearment and a kiss that should have carried the security and safety of a brother - but instead was saturated with hate and evil and chilled our friends' souls to the core. Even your kindest words became undeniably wicked and odious.
For a moment you danced with Satan. Perhaps this was all your were born for, but perhaps, you chose to take his hand and let him be the lead of your soul for a season.
But you didn't have to die.
My flesh was ripped open for you, too.
My blood spilled on the ground and on the Mercy Seat was to cover your sins, too.
The love I had to save the thief at my side as I suffocated would not have been restrained from you had you only asked for it.
But instead, when Satan let go of your hand and left you alone on the dance floor, exposed to the world for what you were, you saw yourself for the first time for what you were.
A man who traded love for greed. Who traded peace for internal torture in your mind, spirit and soul. Who traded truth for the lies shown through the filter of his soul and all the pain and lies you had lived.
A man who traded forgiveness for Hell. A man that betrayed the greatest, kindest purest friendship that could have ever existed in time and space.
A man who traded the I AM for bitterness and lust.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My salvation was there and available for you, too. You didn't have to take your own life after seeing the man you became. My life in you would have made it all right. Even in what you did my forgiveness would not have been withheld. All it would have taken was you to ask.
But sometimes, no matter how great the love is made visible to their eyes, no matter how great the miracles are in front of them, no matter how many words of truth are given in harsh and soft love - sometimes, death - or being a walking dead man - is the soul's final decision.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My forgiveness was truly for you, too.
(c) Kristen Garcia - 3-30-15
For a season of a few years you walked by my side, shared in my home, saw my joy, heard my laughter - experienced my tears.
You were one of an elect few who saw me in my realest moments - the moments of strength, the moments that took all of my faith to keep walking forward, the moments where it seemed like everyone around me pulled my grace from me until I could no longer walk.
You had the greatest amount of access to me, yet you couldn't - or wouldn't - open your eyes to who I am.
Even seeing the depths of my love, peace and compassion - the expanse of the fire that flows through my bones and the explosiveness of my distaste for the abuse of the vulnerable - you still seethed in anger at me, yet I said not a word.
You waited. Maybe you thought I would break. Maybe you thought I wasn't who I said I was. Maybe you thought at any moment I would become the idol you had built in your mind that you desired me to become.
But I didn't live to those expectations. I kept walking the path ahead of me toward the end goal.
And it was there you had enough. When a jar broke open you saw in your greed money stolen from you that you would no longer have access to.
When a man laughed with me after having no breath in his body for days, your lack of faith drove your heart of stone into a furnace that hardened it more than ever.
And when I looked at you and said to do what was in your cold, hard, evil heart to do to me you stopped in your tracks. A mix of surprise and fear washed through your eyes, followed by a smile that dripped the most pure evil the world had seen. You ran as fast as you could. How could you deny that invitation?
You stalked me to my sanctuary. After I had poured my heart out in love and fasted and prayed for even you - you had eyes on my every move -
And you were waiting-
Waiting to let the blood thirsty hunger that had gone without satiety for years see a chance to drink in deep and quench their dry throats when I was snatched in my tired, weakened state.
Waiting to return my grace with you, my love for you, my silence when I knew you had stolen from me and hardened your heart toward me, with false accusations and a gang ready to beat me down and pay for what transgressions? For the transgression of love toward you? Toward the unlovely? Toward the poorest and greatest of sinners?
Waiting for the chance to greet me with a term of endearment and a kiss that should have carried the security and safety of a brother - but instead was saturated with hate and evil and chilled our friends' souls to the core. Even your kindest words became undeniably wicked and odious.
For a moment you danced with Satan. Perhaps this was all your were born for, but perhaps, you chose to take his hand and let him be the lead of your soul for a season.
But you didn't have to die.
My flesh was ripped open for you, too.
My blood spilled on the ground and on the Mercy Seat was to cover your sins, too.
The love I had to save the thief at my side as I suffocated would not have been restrained from you had you only asked for it.
But instead, when Satan let go of your hand and left you alone on the dance floor, exposed to the world for what you were, you saw yourself for the first time for what you were.
A man who traded love for greed. Who traded peace for internal torture in your mind, spirit and soul. Who traded truth for the lies shown through the filter of his soul and all the pain and lies you had lived.
A man who traded forgiveness for Hell. A man that betrayed the greatest, kindest purest friendship that could have ever existed in time and space.
A man who traded the I AM for bitterness and lust.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My salvation was there and available for you, too. You didn't have to take your own life after seeing the man you became. My life in you would have made it all right. Even in what you did my forgiveness would not have been withheld. All it would have taken was you to ask.
But sometimes, no matter how great the love is made visible to their eyes, no matter how great the miracles are in front of them, no matter how many words of truth are given in harsh and soft love - sometimes, death - or being a walking dead man - is the soul's final decision.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My forgiveness was truly for you, too.
(c) Kristen Garcia - 3-30-15
Friday, February 27, 2015
Your eyes give you away.
I see that smile.
The one that you think hides the pain. The one that, if you wear it enough, might even convince yourself that you're doing OK.
But your eyes give you away. Your eyes can't mask the pain that a half-forced smile can.
And the pain is real.
The result of broken promises. Broken vows. Betrayal and lies.
What was supposed to be the most secure thing this side of Heaven came crashing down on you.
The pain of long moments, sometimes years, holding onto the hope that if you just made it one more day, the next day would get better - and with enough of those days followed by a few more days it would turn into years not lost to emotional or physical separation - the hope we should all walk in when faced with trial.
But the pain is real.
And your smile - it's not all forced. There is a smile possible when the weight of trying to death-grip hold to faith, to promises, to what you know isn't impossible for God is relieved. Not that you gave up the fight, but that you took a breath and for a moment found the weight lifted.
The beginnings of a genuine smile lie there.
Nights of asking what's next, praying for the recovery of what is teetering on complete loss, waking up the next morning to tackle the world you know as parenthood and career is finally taking it's toll - strength can only be found for so long before a small crack becomes a fissure not easily repaired.
Yet, 'tis not a sign of weakness to cry. A lot. To let the uncertainty that our souls feel come to the surface and for a moment, get the best of us, but sometimes necessary.
For those who mourn cannot be comforted.
Those who never breathe deep can never take in the full measure of refreshment.
Those who never look away from the ground because they're so focused on making sure to avoid the next trap can never be carried by the open hand offered next to them because they can't see it.
A heart that doesn't break can never be mended - and in the mending find healing, strength, and the wisdom to minister the lesson unshakably to someone else.
The Arms of Comfort that want to wrap around you will erase the memory, even if just briefly, of the pain, but can't get around you when the pain becomes your secure feeling and place.
The deep Breath in can open your eyes to see another's soul, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to diffuse instead of instigate because you see their pain, their hurt, the demons they are battling and you'll find a grace that might just attempt to mend what little is left in lieu of total destruction.
There is a time to be focused on the traps, but do not forget the beauty around you. Great love can be imparted in a bird singing on a branch; a growing flower in the sidewalk; the pure laughter out of the belly of a child. If you never look around, how will you see? How many moments must you walk with a heart so hard that you refuse to even find the majesty in the simple?
It's OK to laugh in the middle of great pain. It's OK to let your guard down a bit to be in awe of a starry sky, even if it means a few more tears because for a moment, you feel love again.
And yes, that will still hurt in a way. But that's OK. At least you're feeling real love and not the pain of rejection from the one soul on Earth that vowed to God to never walk away. It's a two edged sword, I won't deny it.
But focus on the love - even for a brief moment - so your heart isn't lost for years trying to avoid the other side of that blade. I speak from long years of experience. It's not worth it. Love will always conquer the pain, it just may take a while. Don't grow weary in doing what's greatest.
To be broken. To lay what you cherish the most - that half of you tin whom you invested nights, months, years of tears and prayers and made the choice to stay day after day - on the altar like the child Isaac and know that if the throat is slit and the lifeblood drained that nothing is impossible for resurrection. But you have to put it there in order to get it back.
You have to lay your heart down to be emptied out of the strength you hope everyone sees, the strength you hope you have, the warm blanket that the pain has become, the resolve you have in your heart that every shred of your will has found to exercise.
Only in the moment of that emptiness can your heart and will finally be filled where it won't be sapped by a bad day, a bad word, a triggered memory. You have to make room for the greater. And yes, this typically involves a lot of tears and internal emotional violence, but, new wine is only made in empty skins.
But hang onto the smile. A day will come - and it may not be soon, but I promise you, it WILL come - when it will be genuine. And full. And radiant. And the world will know you are on the other side of the hardest part.
And your eyes will give you away then, too.
©Kristen Garcia 2-27-15
The one that you think hides the pain. The one that, if you wear it enough, might even convince yourself that you're doing OK.
But your eyes give you away. Your eyes can't mask the pain that a half-forced smile can.
And the pain is real.
The result of broken promises. Broken vows. Betrayal and lies.
What was supposed to be the most secure thing this side of Heaven came crashing down on you.
The pain of long moments, sometimes years, holding onto the hope that if you just made it one more day, the next day would get better - and with enough of those days followed by a few more days it would turn into years not lost to emotional or physical separation - the hope we should all walk in when faced with trial.
But the pain is real.
And your smile - it's not all forced. There is a smile possible when the weight of trying to death-grip hold to faith, to promises, to what you know isn't impossible for God is relieved. Not that you gave up the fight, but that you took a breath and for a moment found the weight lifted.
The beginnings of a genuine smile lie there.
Nights of asking what's next, praying for the recovery of what is teetering on complete loss, waking up the next morning to tackle the world you know as parenthood and career is finally taking it's toll - strength can only be found for so long before a small crack becomes a fissure not easily repaired.
Yet, 'tis not a sign of weakness to cry. A lot. To let the uncertainty that our souls feel come to the surface and for a moment, get the best of us, but sometimes necessary.
For those who mourn cannot be comforted.
Those who never breathe deep can never take in the full measure of refreshment.
Those who never look away from the ground because they're so focused on making sure to avoid the next trap can never be carried by the open hand offered next to them because they can't see it.
A heart that doesn't break can never be mended - and in the mending find healing, strength, and the wisdom to minister the lesson unshakably to someone else.
The Arms of Comfort that want to wrap around you will erase the memory, even if just briefly, of the pain, but can't get around you when the pain becomes your secure feeling and place.
The deep Breath in can open your eyes to see another's soul, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to diffuse instead of instigate because you see their pain, their hurt, the demons they are battling and you'll find a grace that might just attempt to mend what little is left in lieu of total destruction.
There is a time to be focused on the traps, but do not forget the beauty around you. Great love can be imparted in a bird singing on a branch; a growing flower in the sidewalk; the pure laughter out of the belly of a child. If you never look around, how will you see? How many moments must you walk with a heart so hard that you refuse to even find the majesty in the simple?
It's OK to laugh in the middle of great pain. It's OK to let your guard down a bit to be in awe of a starry sky, even if it means a few more tears because for a moment, you feel love again.
And yes, that will still hurt in a way. But that's OK. At least you're feeling real love and not the pain of rejection from the one soul on Earth that vowed to God to never walk away. It's a two edged sword, I won't deny it.
But focus on the love - even for a brief moment - so your heart isn't lost for years trying to avoid the other side of that blade. I speak from long years of experience. It's not worth it. Love will always conquer the pain, it just may take a while. Don't grow weary in doing what's greatest.
To be broken. To lay what you cherish the most - that half of you tin whom you invested nights, months, years of tears and prayers and made the choice to stay day after day - on the altar like the child Isaac and know that if the throat is slit and the lifeblood drained that nothing is impossible for resurrection. But you have to put it there in order to get it back.
You have to lay your heart down to be emptied out of the strength you hope everyone sees, the strength you hope you have, the warm blanket that the pain has become, the resolve you have in your heart that every shred of your will has found to exercise.
Only in the moment of that emptiness can your heart and will finally be filled where it won't be sapped by a bad day, a bad word, a triggered memory. You have to make room for the greater. And yes, this typically involves a lot of tears and internal emotional violence, but, new wine is only made in empty skins.
But hang onto the smile. A day will come - and it may not be soon, but I promise you, it WILL come - when it will be genuine. And full. And radiant. And the world will know you are on the other side of the hardest part.
And your eyes will give you away then, too.
©Kristen Garcia 2-27-15
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