Garden of Eve

“Just grab the scissors, Sianna.” I don’t understand though. Who’s voice and Why scissors? Why so demanding?

“Again, just grab the scissors, Sianna.” I embrace uncertainty in her mysterious and familiar mother like sternness. “Ahh, it is Gaia.”

And so I cautiously grab the old rusted pair from the plastic bin labeled “tool box” written in old somber black sharpie from the laundry room.

*Mocking the guidance just received*

“Laundry room scissors? These will do, I suppose”.

There are no further directions of what is to be done with them nor where to go with them. Just directions and untold destinations while blind faith caresses the scissors in my soft, golden, California poppy, tattooed hands.

Oh the irony of every parent's warning to their child’s oblivious play. Dear Mother Gaia, what do you have me getting into today?

*Standing barefoot on white concrete driveway. The ground is comforting and warm, like a glass of chestnut honey rum on the rocks while lounging near a cabin’s dusty fireplace.*

*Nature’s hymn in spotlight singing telepathically through my playful mind*:

“Stumble upon the path of rock,

Hear the sounds of a bird songs mock,

Expect the dirt to paint your bare legs,

Don’t stress the stickiness of a Charlotte’s Web,

Keep running through,

Bright sunny day,

Smile away,

Keep running through,

Oh beloved child’s play,

A Mother Earth must fuss to say,

“Just be mindful. You have scissors with you””

And in the midst of my day dreamy, sunset film, 70’s vintage, “I belong on a Mustang in a pretty sundress” vibe of aesthetic, I run with the guidance of my intuition disguised as wind.

“Follow me here, oh hear me sweet pie! I promise the wind’s voice is not one to lie!”

And to the dying garden, I trustingly go.

As I crouch down, knees to chest hugging my open heart space, I feel the sweat start to bloom from my pores and drip its liquid salty essence down my desert umber, sand colored spine.

It’s hot and the metal blades of my Eeyore dull scissors slightly burn the five interstellar antennas on my hand as I grip onto the words that are in demand. "Just grab the scissors, Sianna."

“I know this won’t feel too good for the weeds. Ya know the blade and all. How empathetic I am to see each dead leaf, stem, and weed fall. Or maybe it will, like a warm hug from a great great grandmother whose death won’t budge no matter how much natural cause would like to nudge. Resilience and life long stubborn strength. The vines long in length hug so tightly on this garden's fence. Or it definitely will as we cut and snip to let soil breathe before planting new Papaya seeds.”

Oh the detailed and dancing thoughts that sway gently in my mind as I begin to cut rotting stems and dried flower buds off of our precious gems of potential abundant fruits and vegetables in our emotionally unattended garden.

As songs lullaby in my mind dozing it to sleep, questions begin to arise. I never thought to ask the universe as to why she initially road mapped me here to this tired old plant haven.

“Oh dearest, mama de mi jardín, mother of our land, why is it that you brought me here, with these bored and monotone scissors in my bare hand?”

“To teach you, human child of mine.

To teach you how the subtle void and rippling stillness in patience can lure you into perceiving and interpreting the slow growth process of our seeds, so that you may understand how growth is attentive and delicately fast in its own due time.

To teach you that love is nurturing and it is kind, too.

That loving your garden will catalyze in resemblance the chrysalis of your inner child’s intuitive awareness to your natural health and how joyful adolescence in the yard is to your heart and soulful you.

To teach that compassion is a necessary quality to attain the quality of life within my dearest self sacrificing vegetation; Which if I must acknowledge once more, is here to feed not only you, but too, the animals and insects that wander our world.”

My face scrunched in humbling humility. I continue to drop beads of sweat onto the rich, dark chocolate almond soil, as I continue to cut tips and weeds, one by one, in temperatures that feel like a humid Honomu, Hawaiin boil.

Here I was complaining about the dullness of a pair of scissors that were never mine to begin with, yet still gifted to me for a purpose of rejuvenation and reminding of vitality. The intention of this purpose composing of life lessons of a few:

The importance of gardening and how it is beneficial to our health by not just eating fruits and vegetables but through grounding practices and meditations to alleviate fast life induced stresses and energetic tension throughout the body.

I need to slow down.

The mastermind of our complaining and how we can steer off into a selfish abyss.

Not everything is about me.

That practicing patience, love, and compassion takes the blindfold off from the foolish face of needing to rush in life.

Corporate Societal mindset doesn't let you pause enough for a deep breath.

That mother earth can, will, and does offer us an abundance of graceful, genuine, and empathetic nurturing love with vitamin nutrient induced goodness for our souls tummy through agriculture and simple gardening.

We are wellness.

That connection with Mother Earth is the greatest form of uniting and synchronizing with our internal blueprint that is universal and spiritual magic to the rest of intergalactic existence.

We are intertwined in our spiritual euphoria.

Sometimes when we involve ourselves in work we did not expect to dive into yet still listen to the guidance of, we find more peace and fulfillment in success.

Who knew I'd love plants and scissors so much?

Giving back to the grounds that we call home, opens our hearts to receiving in many playful and curiously satisfying ways.

My child self runs barefoot and free.

and lastly,

These pairs of scissors, I embody, as they are more than a gift or a tool. Scissors remind me of the cycle of life that we continuously undergo yet at any time, when something, someone, or some weed is suffocating our freedom to grow and evolve, we are capable of cutting and letting go-so as long as we are accepting and appreciating the help that is offered to do so.

Gardening and landscape maintenance has become more than a craft, more than a hobby, and more than a project. This connection within the plant spirits of natural healing and nurturing remedy has blossomed a lotus like part of me that I never knew I’d be so damn interested in pursuing and involving my own existence with.

And if I must restate anything that I have written to pursue in order to spiritually and divinely persuade,

“It is Eve who we are a vessel of, a source of love from up above.”