Sacred Garden and the Lily Survivor

One of my most cherished pastimes is sitting on the front porch, surrounded by my flowers, drinking coffee amidst to the whisper of rustling leaves and birdsong.

I may look for figures in the clouds, or relax my gaze toward the treetops, seeking the energy spirals that tell of their life force. I admonish the ants and bees to come back when I’m inside, leaving me in peace. I breathe. I pace. I pray. I meditate. I commune.

As long as we’ve lived here, I’ve kept a small garden. I don’t have much space to work with—a small bit of dirt, in front of the kitchen window, and the patio itself, to overfill with pots every year.

When blooms are spent, I prune with reverence, fully enjoying the feel of the soft petals, gentle scents and colors. I like to scatter them on the ground, thanking the flowers for their gifts, willing them to bring joy and luck and protection to whomever crosses their path. I reflect upon the cycles of nature, forever waxing and waning, always in tune with the bigger energy of the universe. I see the cycles in my own life. It’s humble, but certainly enough for right here, right now.

At the beginning of spring, when the perennials sprout, it never fails to take my by surprise. Or seeds from annuals long forgotten may show up volunteering here and there to add a spot of magic. Each year, I look for my old favorites to return, and look forward to new friends showing up.

The first I planted were lilies. It felt, quite literally, like putting down roots. Not that this is my “real” home base forever. Far from it, but more that I was committing to filling this box within we reside, with love. You know?

Digging in the dirt, planting the flowers and arranging plants about the porch all soothed during many a difficult time. In pain, in happiness, in confusion, in elation, all the same. This little bit of space provides a sacred respite, a haven of divine life, even if it’s surrounded by asphalt and concrete. It’s needed, especially if it’s surrounded by asphalt and concrete. This is my humble sacred space.

I headed outside to get the mail yesterday, checking on my flowers as always and got a shock—the landlady had dug out my lilies! I was stunned. Every single one was removed, the ground utterly bare where they once lived. A big tub sat nearby, all but empty. Only a few bits cut from the greenery was scattered about as evidence there were once flowers there.

Now, I know she probably had some reason or another. It no doubt was about property value or concern about roots or some thing or other I never would have considered. I have no idea. All I know is that my lovely lilies were gone!

And what about the indigo Morning Glories that crept up around the lily greenery, and of course the cockscomb and wildflower seeds I’d tossed in the flower bed the day before, dousing in Miracle-Gro with anticipation? And I wonder, which might be next? The phlox, the butterfly bush, tiny daffodils or miniature roses?  Who knows which may somehow be considered bothersome?

Why hadn’t she talked to me? Brought in another plant as an offering or apology? Let me save a few lilies to grow in pots on my porch? I was here all day. Something, anything would have been more welcome than the slap in the face from the empty space. It was so much more disturbing than I would have ever guessed. It hurt.

I awoke in tears, still feeling loss today. And then, my thoughts went to the tub…what was in there, anyway?

I ran outside and took a look, seeing a single cluster of lily bulbs. Swooping in, they were rescued! The sole survivor of the Great Lily Massacre of 2012, now hidden away safely in a big pot of dirt. Right after relocating them, a gentle rain began. I smiled through the tears; maybe the Gods are blessing my rescue, helping care for my survivor. Lord knows I can space off watering schedules.

Do you have a sacred space?