The perfect conditions for germination vary by plant. Some seeds require light, others require darkness, some seeds need stratification (scratching, basically) to absorb the moisture and nutrients in the soil, others have thinner husks that split from the inside out.
If the required conditions aren’t present, the seed lays dormant. They can only survive that inertia for so long until they break down into the soil. The right combination of light, temperature and soil depth turn a key in the cellular lock, and the seed absorbs moisture and nutrients until it grows out of its coat, and the first stem and roots burst forth in search of sun and soil.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when the move stirred something deep and cellular in my soul’s garden; the seeds were just waiting for enough warmth and light to soak up all the nutrients in newly sweetened soil.
That was, of course, the point of the whole thing. Still, my decisions were made and boxes packed with a heart compelled towards something I couldn’t put words to. The logical reasons were all there, but the emotional piece was just an ethereal calling, a siren song I couldn’t quite place.
Weeks later, seed leaves are giving way to the first true leaves, and I can start to take inventory of what sprouted. Most of them are long-treasured favorites, but a few required my field guide and a little research.
Integrating one girl, three cats, and her possessions into an already vibrant household isn’t quick or easy. We’re on the better side of it now, but getting here was overwhelmingly slow and chaotic. All involved parties suffered the sensation of living inside a freshly shaken snow globe in which more than a few things were not glued down.
Being a welcome and valued part of an intimate community again left some neglected muscles with that delicious ache of awakening. There is a sense of security that I had given up on finding again; a deep knowledge of safety and acceptance I had dismissed as an illusion of naivety and innocence. The incredible responsibility of that security is not lost on me, but perhaps most shocking is my willingness and ability to honor it.
A stunning clarity sets in as I realize that I’ve just happily committed to everything I’ve run from in my romantic relationships as of late: accountability, authenticity, healthy interdependence, compromise, and well, commitment. They were the things I wanted and needed the most, and the things I feared most deeply.
I spent countless days and endless nights wondering if I or anyone else in this world was worthy of genuine trust, acceptance and the work of love. Living on triscuits, yogurt and coffee for days on end, if I ate at all, and sleeping mostly when my body’s exhaustion overruled my hypervigilant mind. The year I spent with my sister helped to heal so many ancient wounds, but we share the blood and bones of a common history, and our ability to prove the other’s worth in love is one of the few limitations in such a sacred bond.
Suddenly, I found myself cooking and being fed again, sleeping long and deep and much earlier than before, giving of myself and my unique offerings, and accepting the love and care of others with grace and gratitude. What resonated so easily and quickly in my body and heart required a mental shifting; my brain still isn’t quite sure what to do with all of this joy and contentment.
Realizing how profoundly anxious and isolated I have been is sad and frightening, and I’m relieved to understand its depths only in hindsight. I’m still finding my new center of gravity, and the world insists on continuing to turn while I re-calibrate, which is comforting and daunting in the same breath. Much like tending to young seedlings despite Mother Nature’s whims.
It’s still a little early to tell, but I’m fairly confident that the seeds of faith and hope are popping up in every corner of my garden.
I can’t wait to see those bitches in full bloom.