The Midnight Garden

Nothing is there to know when we are standing at the foot of the hour

In the place with the midnight garden.

We only really become alive at night 

At the time when all else is still 

And something inside us is breaking 

The chime on the grandfather clock feels louder somehow 

And the roses who usually sprig with the hum of bees and catch the golden light 

Are dull now 

But they have a kind of elegance their daytime counter does not possess 

Blessed be the stupor of the tree of time 

Who remains infinite in his elderly pose

And watches over us all, no matter the hour;

And the twiglets and vines that rise over the brick home 

Leading us neither outwards or away 

Nor taking us over the pass where we no longer care to tread 

We are not tired, no

But there is silence surrounding what is alive;

There is stillness surrounding what is bursting 

It is a time to wake in a new way 

In the surrounds of the dark

In the memory of death 

In the momentary out-of-body experience

That carries us everywhere, and nowhere

And we sing the song that is only inside us 

To be heard only by us

Change

Setting yourself free of yourself (or some part of yourself) and changing, usually occurs through the potent remedy that is to become tired of the ways that pile like lose coins upon the chest. Once they brought wealth, but now, having served their purpose, they become dead weight. These metallic ways and royal nothings are collected by one’s own hand, or the hand of external affirmation. Heavier and heavier we grow until we do away with some, or all, of what has become familiar, but seems to be prohibiting the deep longing for us to rise; the longing to be something more.

Ripping away from the tethers of our old self usually happens slowly in the cycles of forgiveness, joy; shame, fear anger, and forgiveness again. It is only in surmounting the truth that who one is no longer deserves to carry such weight - that finally - a tired and rotting rope can be cut away with the humblest and most unassuming pocket-knife; enough to let the old boat, aye - the old clanking elements of the self - sink with previously treasured symbols of success - truly unwanted.

What a relief it is, to bid farewell to the shell of the being that can no longer, with its old thoughts and way - carry the expanding spirit of the one that is brave enough to change.

To keep the mouth speaking; and the body acting in appeasement for the old way, is ultimately, not to change at all. And so, we leave behind the expectations of our caterpillar self to find a new way. And so we also leave behind the ones who wish to remain caterpillars, for now. Who knows, maybe we will soar together one day. But it is true, there in change lies grief.

Many trees who seek to love you at their height, do so block the sunlight. Lest we cut the poppy to keep us all in the same era of normality. And what is normal? The changing version of the soul knows there is no answer.

Perhaps most of all, it is the clouds who truly understand change. To expand into the fullness of the rainfall, the condensed version of yourself; the full version of yourself, you must indeed become so heavy in fullness; that to remain in the same way; in the same place - would be seemingly impossible.

And so we gather ourselves unto ourselves, trusting everything that is ‘us’, with the courage to feel the wild internal magnitude of ourselves, that we might surrender to it. And fall. 
Ah, to fall in surrender to a new version of the self. Timeless and unafraid. Bliss and grief, with no relinquishing bravery. You are changing. Please know it is safe to change, brave soul.

Might we be so blessed in our transition, in our changing. That in our complete choosing of our self, we open our eyes and see around us the glittering droplets of familiar friends, of family; hearts who love us in every cycle - not as a vapour nor a solid, but as a soul. "Be free". We say to each other, and the acceptance creates a rainbow.

"Be free” we muse as we spiral in unique directions - and without planning to; we are journeying together. Not bound. But indeed, completely connected by soul-love and synchronistic grace in the realisation, we will never stop changing.