Every one of us is a garden. We are seeds grown from passion, purpose, and nurturing. With time and with care, we can blossom into functioning members of society that produce vibrant fruits and sweet nectars.
But we are often taught of a farmer. We are taught that there are things greater than ourselves, that grant happiness, peace, or forgiveness. From these teachings, we learn that the farmer is superior to the garden and something separate from it.
Such grooming has lead us to a detached, obstructed, anxious way of existence.
From my youth, I had been attempting to allow a passionless doctrine fertilize my roots. I wilted as I grew. I became increasingly disconnected with myself. I gave much of my existence away, to external validation, to libations, and I blossomed into a person that I did not recognize, nor did I want to.
I started a journey, this project, in 2015, at the peak of my personal debauchery. I decided to change, to rely on only myself, and to consciously practice self-love, a concept entirely foreign to me.
I did this by writing daily love poems, to myself. It was awkward.
I devised one rule: I was not allowed to delete any of the poems. To delete would validate shame; it would passively be catering to my ego. These poems were not about the building of ego but the separation from it.
“A Love Poem, To Myself – [September 6, 2015]
…
Life breathes in arbitrary complexities,
And exhales unnoticed moments.
She births chaos into beautiful order.
Yet you give your own chaos no life,
You give your order no merit,
You blindly bleed out,
As you wait for validation.
Even now, this intended love poem resists love,
It remains an observation.”
At first, the “love” poems, were derisive, and nearly combative. I could see myself openly resisting the idea of self-care. But, I persisted.
It was the first thing I did when I woke up every morning. Even if I felt I had nothing to say, I would write. Just like any practice, with time and dedication, it became much less onerous, and the words eventually flowed with ease.
I began to explore my thoughts. They were sometimes dark and convoluted, but I embraced them with acceptance and humility. I was getting to know myself.
“A Love Poem {to myself} March 29, 2016
…
We are bred,
To be monuments of our failures. We are bred, To lick the wounds of our ancestors.
We are garish delicacies of prior appetites,
Of selfishness and shame.
In the cradle,
I am taught to raise my sword.
As a tribute,
“A Love Poem {to myself} August 5, 2016
…
I welcome persistence and truth in my temple. I welcome freedom and happiness in my home.
I welcome death to my self. She stands patiently at the door, glaring, gleaming. I am chained, I have no mouth to call her in.“
This act of personal care, of self-appreciation, and conscious exploration, developed a sound reliance, and an intimate aplomb within myself. I was separating from the shame that I was so accustomed to and developing into a being that was distant yet familiar, refined and comforting.
I have not been as dedicate as I could, or should have been, but with the coming of a new year, I feel inclined to resurrect the act, and to dedicate the time each day, to write these poems, and to learn about myself. I urge everyone that reads this, to do the same.
Embrace your emotions, as you experience yourself. Observe your words and thoughts develop. You will eventually notice a shift in the way you think of, and speak to yourself.
Every one of us is a garden. We are seeds grown from passion, purpose, and nurturing; and we must not grow passive to the fact, that we must also be the farmer.
