How often have you thought to yourself, ‘I need some healing’?
I am not referring so much to physical healing, but rather to the healing of the mind and spirit.
You aren’t the only one. I would guess that everyone reading this newsletter and the one writing it has thought the same thing many times.
What action do you take when this thought comes to mind?
Do you stop and rest? Maybe you go for a walk, potter in your garden, read something uplifting, or listen to soothing music. Perhaps you are someone who hops in the car and goes for a drive, aiming for a park with trees, water, birds, and flowers.
Pray tell me, where do you go or what do you do for this kind of healing?
For those of you who know me, I head outside, preferably away from the city, the traffic, the crowds and into nature. At times, a city park beside the river or lake will do. My soul craves the feel of the wind on my cheeks, the connection of my feet to the earth, the scent of plants, dirt, flowers, and soil, the sounds of birds calling, insects buzzing, and the wind in the trees.
However, the other day I came across something that made me stop and read each word carefully. This short passage gave me a different perspective on healing.
What if, perchance, we don’t need healing?
What if we need acceptance and a different way to bloom in this life that encompasses all of our reconciled flaws?
I will let you decide for yourself as you ponder that passage below.
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I went to my garden this morning for some healing, and my healing came as a reminder.
Our old apple tree had a scar, a long silver seam where lightning once kissed its skin. The morning visitor, crow, had a wing slightly torn, but still it flew, crooked and glorious. The huge boulder sitting on the property corner had a new crack with its heart exposed to the rain. No shame in that, only the soft green moss curling into the wound like a lullaby softening sharp edges.
And I thought, how strange it is that we try so hard to be smooth, whole, forever young and untouched by life weather. But the wild things do not mend what isn’t broken. They do not polish their edges. They do not hide their histories. They simply go on. They bloom sideways. They sing with cracked voices. They are beautiful because they are honest. What is flawless, after all? Not the stone, not the sky, not this body, not this heart with its scars and wounds.
So today, I will not fix myself. I will walk with my uneven gait, laugh with my crooked smile, wear my flower crown, and let the moss find its way into every tender place. Perhaps the heart blooms best when it blooms unevenly, but true.
From: Rivers in the Ocean
Elaine Bayley