My Garden
there is a place deep within me, a place seldom seen by just the naked eye..there is rusted, worn and slightly warped gates closing this place off to most..inside grew thistles and weeds surrounded with thorns to prick the fingers of the unsuspecting.. And then along came the Master Gardner, full of love and devotion.. You worked at the gates gently but with a perserverence that was unrelenting. The gates gave way to the tender pushing... the gentle force aplied against them causes them to weaken and open a bit.. You the Master Gardener smiled as they groaned with the effort, and reached inside and scattered a handful of seeds...not giving a care to the thorns that stood guard, You began tending the seedlings with love and compassion..and honesty and devotion bloomed in full. You entered the rusty gates and began replacing the weeds with budding beauty, there is, friendship, love, compassion, tenderness, loyality, devotion, trust, humility, honesty and acceptance..as they grew stronger under Your hand, a new bloom appeared...one of delicate apearence but of strength untold,one of beauty and rarity, the bloom of submission..it stood in the center and looked out over the other blooms..then one day You went in and watered this garden with understanding, and behold... the seeds of Dominance began to spring forth, surrounding but not choking the bloom of submission..taller and taller until it stood over the rest.. its stem strong and sturdy to hold the blooming submission in place, to offer it comfort and a place to rest..offering it strength in times of weakness... offering it companionship so it would never be alone.. then strong thorns apeared here and there on the Dominant Bloom..the bloom of submission looked at these and lowered its head, for now it was protected. Be it right or wrong the Dominant Bloom would love it and care for it and tenderly yet firmly keep it on its path.. protecting it against the thistles and weeds of the world...should some one try to pluck the budding bloom the thorns would score their fingers and warn them away...for the Master Gardner had planted love here to stay. |
