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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Life Experience
- Published: 06/04/2017
The Garden of Love has a variety of blooms.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesSome loves are like trees, they tower over the forest, seemingly living forever. Other loves are like little sprigs on the side of those giant trees, that stand out only because they are small, short lived, and backlit by the giant love they grow out of.
So what are they, these sprigs and plants of little loves stuck on the side of the tree of a major love, or growing nearby in the left over mulch of broken relationships, old lovers, and secret moments. Moments shared only briefly, as daring as a one night stand, or as wistful as an: “…if only things had been different.”
Some are cherished moments, kept in the back pocket of your memory. Taken out to shine and sparkle in the sun, but not often, and never for long. Other moments are closed to all but you, for the embrace shame, guilt, or the barely held in check question of why, or why not.
When you learn to love you are still growing. The love that nurtured that tree trunk when it was just a sapling, growing in the sun without any fear of storms, deluges, or saws. It is a fresh love that hasn’t been cut, pruned, chopped, or affected by disease or time. In us humans, we call this: youth, puppy love, our first true love, or even - if we are lucky- the almost mythical standard of love- a soulmate.
Most of us melt into our first budding love without knowing if it will flower. Like a shoot on the forest floor, it is just green with new life, but it hasn’t flowered, blossomed, or bloomed. We don’t know if it is a pretty flower, that lasts only the one season, or if it will return year after year. Is it a mighty love, or a love that might? We don’t know, but it is there, and struggling to make itself known.
Ahh, but what is the Forest floor made up of? It is the part that most of us simply walk on without noticing. It is your childhood. All the love that gave you nourishment to grow up. For a lot of us it was our Mom’s love that laid the groundwork. Our Dad’s often helped plant parts of the garden of our souls, by being there when needed. Mom’s were just there- all the time. Even when we thought they weren’t watching, caring, or loving. They were. Now we can love.
Sometimes it was a sibling that bonded in a way that you would not only be brother or sister, but family- for life. Friends of the blood. Those trees are hardwoods. They are capable of taking all the hard knocks life can throw at you- and when all else fails, and a fire tears down your trees- you can still find safety, comfort, and understanding- and a place to recover- among family.
The big trees though, are always grown from romantic love. Some trees grow even beyond that. Those are the trees where love has become part of every branch. Those trees just love. There are no conditions needed for a friendship to blossom into a love. Or a hand to hold to become a hug. We stand in awe of these towering wise powerful loves. For they are all what we secretly want to become.
Short loves, sometimes only last a season or two. Some loves fade, but can be rekindled. Other loves, fade, but return as friendships years later. Other loves, die on the vine. Love can wither from inattention or be smothered by the clinging vines of fear. Fear that the plant you are holding onto so tightly, might outgrow you, or reach for sunlight you can only feel, but not see. And that does happen. Love can grow to fast, to far up to support itself on such a thin stalk, or shallow root.
Towering loves take time, they dig deep and reach high. They are solid, and when they fall, it is usually death that topples them. Not life.
Love is more brightly colored, has more shapes, and finds more ways to bloom than any Forest on Earth has flowers, shrubs, vines and trees. You can love in so many different ways, for so many different seasons, for so many days, weeks, months, or years, that everyone who has ever truly loved, carries their own Forest within.
Maybe that sprig is just a memory of your first kiss. Maybe that sprig is just the few moments you spend chatting with someone younger (or older) that brightens their day- even if just for a moment. Maybe that slender plant that shines so green and crisp and appears as a smile on both your faces, is the first bloom of friendship. And maybe that is all it is meant to become.
Some can be intense and grow so fast that when the season ends, that plant does too. Those kinds of things usually happen only when we are young. They are tied to just one place: work, church, activity, or group thing. When we move away, or away from, or try to include that plant in a different setting. It dies quickly. College and High School are the two major Gardens of Love- that don’t survive transplanting very well.
Those loves are meant to move on - usually. But many a tall redwood of love has begun in either place. But only if the love moved with them to the new ground of career, location, or dream.
When you become a Tree of Love, you will look down (or back) and see that you have left a bramble of tiny seeds of love, strewn about in caring moments, long hugs, quiet talks, or lips that suck the sunlight straight from your heart. Some of those buds will shine silver under moonlit nights, pillow talks, or quiet star gazing from a blanket. Even the smallest plant of love, in a tiny egg carton like fifth grade, will have those quiet talks that belong in the silver light of moonlight, and not in the bright harsh direct sun of broad day.
Those talks are always about the future, but the hands that are holding each other- are always in the now. The present. The voices of love run like the sap of life, words flowing with sweetness, or pain, to ward off, or invite in, a chance to grow.
The seeds of love, and loving, turn into the saplings of young love, and if lucky, survive the pruning of time, children, and achievement. Then they become trees. Trees of all kinds. Some with wide sweeping branches, thick branches that support many loves. Others grow straight, tall, and always up, but the branches are small, and way to high to reach. Those are the Soulmate trees, and they don’t often branch out.
Some loves, never quite make it at all to tree level. They are the bushes and shrubs of life. So covered with thorns, that their beauty is only in the flower, and touching one , or growing with one, is a dangerous (but always exciting) venture into a season, maybe two. Then the flowers change to much to be recognized anymore.
The Forest has room for all the sprigs and plants that love can spread by the wind, by contact, by chance. Maybe your love will tower. Maybe your love will form a Grove of like minded flowering plants, sweet fruits, and soft places to sit. Maybe your loves will have the desert beauty of cactus, sharp prickly edges, all hiding the sweetness inside. Maybe you will be one of those Forests made up only of flowers, one love losing petals quickly, only to be replaced by yet another pretty flower.
And maybe, just maybe, your love will be moss like, and hold tight to a towering love, laying like a soft velvet blanket to wrap around the trunk and simply absorb the power of a towering love. Comfort without much effort. It is enough.
If your garden is wild, or planned, weeded or let go, it will still provide beauty for you. It will grow on its own for most of us, and for a few of us, it will never stop growing.
So take care of the tender shoots, lean on the bigger branches, swing from the thick branches, and use the giant trunks for support, shelter, and a place to sit quietly in awe.
For love will blossom into friendships, companionship, and then, bloom into a full love. It is Nature’s way.
The Garden of Love has a variety of blooms.(Kevin Hughes)
Some loves are like trees, they tower over the forest, seemingly living forever. Other loves are like little sprigs on the side of those giant trees, that stand out only because they are small, short lived, and backlit by the giant love they grow out of.
So what are they, these sprigs and plants of little loves stuck on the side of the tree of a major love, or growing nearby in the left over mulch of broken relationships, old lovers, and secret moments. Moments shared only briefly, as daring as a one night stand, or as wistful as an: “…if only things had been different.”
Some are cherished moments, kept in the back pocket of your memory. Taken out to shine and sparkle in the sun, but not often, and never for long. Other moments are closed to all but you, for the embrace shame, guilt, or the barely held in check question of why, or why not.
When you learn to love you are still growing. The love that nurtured that tree trunk when it was just a sapling, growing in the sun without any fear of storms, deluges, or saws. It is a fresh love that hasn’t been cut, pruned, chopped, or affected by disease or time. In us humans, we call this: youth, puppy love, our first true love, or even - if we are lucky- the almost mythical standard of love- a soulmate.
Most of us melt into our first budding love without knowing if it will flower. Like a shoot on the forest floor, it is just green with new life, but it hasn’t flowered, blossomed, or bloomed. We don’t know if it is a pretty flower, that lasts only the one season, or if it will return year after year. Is it a mighty love, or a love that might? We don’t know, but it is there, and struggling to make itself known.
Ahh, but what is the Forest floor made up of? It is the part that most of us simply walk on without noticing. It is your childhood. All the love that gave you nourishment to grow up. For a lot of us it was our Mom’s love that laid the groundwork. Our Dad’s often helped plant parts of the garden of our souls, by being there when needed. Mom’s were just there- all the time. Even when we thought they weren’t watching, caring, or loving. They were. Now we can love.
Sometimes it was a sibling that bonded in a way that you would not only be brother or sister, but family- for life. Friends of the blood. Those trees are hardwoods. They are capable of taking all the hard knocks life can throw at you- and when all else fails, and a fire tears down your trees- you can still find safety, comfort, and understanding- and a place to recover- among family.
The big trees though, are always grown from romantic love. Some trees grow even beyond that. Those are the trees where love has become part of every branch. Those trees just love. There are no conditions needed for a friendship to blossom into a love. Or a hand to hold to become a hug. We stand in awe of these towering wise powerful loves. For they are all what we secretly want to become.
Short loves, sometimes only last a season or two. Some loves fade, but can be rekindled. Other loves, fade, but return as friendships years later. Other loves, die on the vine. Love can wither from inattention or be smothered by the clinging vines of fear. Fear that the plant you are holding onto so tightly, might outgrow you, or reach for sunlight you can only feel, but not see. And that does happen. Love can grow to fast, to far up to support itself on such a thin stalk, or shallow root.
Towering loves take time, they dig deep and reach high. They are solid, and when they fall, it is usually death that topples them. Not life.
Love is more brightly colored, has more shapes, and finds more ways to bloom than any Forest on Earth has flowers, shrubs, vines and trees. You can love in so many different ways, for so many different seasons, for so many days, weeks, months, or years, that everyone who has ever truly loved, carries their own Forest within.
Maybe that sprig is just a memory of your first kiss. Maybe that sprig is just the few moments you spend chatting with someone younger (or older) that brightens their day- even if just for a moment. Maybe that slender plant that shines so green and crisp and appears as a smile on both your faces, is the first bloom of friendship. And maybe that is all it is meant to become.
Some can be intense and grow so fast that when the season ends, that plant does too. Those kinds of things usually happen only when we are young. They are tied to just one place: work, church, activity, or group thing. When we move away, or away from, or try to include that plant in a different setting. It dies quickly. College and High School are the two major Gardens of Love- that don’t survive transplanting very well.
Those loves are meant to move on - usually. But many a tall redwood of love has begun in either place. But only if the love moved with them to the new ground of career, location, or dream.
When you become a Tree of Love, you will look down (or back) and see that you have left a bramble of tiny seeds of love, strewn about in caring moments, long hugs, quiet talks, or lips that suck the sunlight straight from your heart. Some of those buds will shine silver under moonlit nights, pillow talks, or quiet star gazing from a blanket. Even the smallest plant of love, in a tiny egg carton like fifth grade, will have those quiet talks that belong in the silver light of moonlight, and not in the bright harsh direct sun of broad day.
Those talks are always about the future, but the hands that are holding each other- are always in the now. The present. The voices of love run like the sap of life, words flowing with sweetness, or pain, to ward off, or invite in, a chance to grow.
The seeds of love, and loving, turn into the saplings of young love, and if lucky, survive the pruning of time, children, and achievement. Then they become trees. Trees of all kinds. Some with wide sweeping branches, thick branches that support many loves. Others grow straight, tall, and always up, but the branches are small, and way to high to reach. Those are the Soulmate trees, and they don’t often branch out.
Some loves, never quite make it at all to tree level. They are the bushes and shrubs of life. So covered with thorns, that their beauty is only in the flower, and touching one , or growing with one, is a dangerous (but always exciting) venture into a season, maybe two. Then the flowers change to much to be recognized anymore.
The Forest has room for all the sprigs and plants that love can spread by the wind, by contact, by chance. Maybe your love will tower. Maybe your love will form a Grove of like minded flowering plants, sweet fruits, and soft places to sit. Maybe your loves will have the desert beauty of cactus, sharp prickly edges, all hiding the sweetness inside. Maybe you will be one of those Forests made up only of flowers, one love losing petals quickly, only to be replaced by yet another pretty flower.
And maybe, just maybe, your love will be moss like, and hold tight to a towering love, laying like a soft velvet blanket to wrap around the trunk and simply absorb the power of a towering love. Comfort without much effort. It is enough.
If your garden is wild, or planned, weeded or let go, it will still provide beauty for you. It will grow on its own for most of us, and for a few of us, it will never stop growing.
So take care of the tender shoots, lean on the bigger branches, swing from the thick branches, and use the giant trunks for support, shelter, and a place to sit quietly in awe.
For love will blossom into friendships, companionship, and then, bloom into a full love. It is Nature’s way.
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