The Garden's Lullaby

Dear Beautiful Reader,

Are there times when you know the right path, and you feel like you could follow it, but all the baggage you've gathered to yourself where you are and where you've been is tying you down? Do you grasp for the ground, clawing the earth towards that clear, green pathway, enshrouded with archways of trees and flowering leaves, seeking only respite and refuge from this dark, colourless place in your life? Do you see that path as direction, a way to finally make sense of life?

I do. I note each tree in this garden, in this path that has suddenly opened itself to me. I note each fruit it bears, each tree trunk, strong with age... some are twisted halfway up, bearing scars and gnarled, but from the wounded struggle, the tree grew on, determined, growing, until finally it met with the tree on the other side of the pathway, entwining with it in a sensual dance, perfectly woven and bound until it became a beautiful arch, and the fruit it bears exudes a tantalizing odor, one which I cannot resist. I claw towards it, knowing my hands are dirty, stained with the labours of the short journey i've made, and I know not how I can pay my toll to cross this path, but somehow, I feel that it doesn't matter.

When I look at the arch, I feel the peace, echoing to me like the song I hear now. I can hear the voice, breathy and gentle, almost like whispers in the leaves as the garden softly sings to me, welcoming me, though I come unworthy. Calmly, tempered with experience, the garden beckons, but I know it is only a short time before it will stop and let me lie there if I choose not to go...but oh, how I want to!!!

I grab the ground, digging into the dirt as my shadows cling to my legs. These shadows are mixtures of different things. I can see guilt, its teeth sunk into my calves as it looks up at me with accusing eyes. I see the pains of my past experiences, clinging to my ankles like small children, begging me not to go, telling me that, for certain, the same things will happen again. I see fear, its arms wrapped  around one thigh and drawing a long, cold tongue up it and straight towards my heart, its eyes telling me with confidence that I am not going to that path. I feel more than I see doubt, its hands clamped firmly around my other thigh, whispering when it can against the music of the garden that I'm better where I am, that I will never to better, that the grey and charred pathway I traverse is the best I will know, and that I should be thankful to have what I do... the garden smells so good because it's a temptation, seeking to take me away from where i'm supposed to be.

I try to break free of my shadows, but as I claw the ground, cold hands reach up from the earth and hold my wrists firmly in place as a face rises and looks me directly in the eye. I know that face. He looks at me and says in a cold voice, "You think you're going to something better, but you're only going back. The face sneers at me, his eyes cold and a smirk playing at his lips as he fades back into the ground, leaving my wrists bruised and sore. I don't know if I can reach the garden in time. I feel suffocated.

Beautiful Reader.... what do you do when you can't break free?