Return to Eden
The Gardner speaks words of the celestial Writer.
Moved to carnal death by ancient emotions and ground to a fine, insignificant earthly dust by His humility, the spirit of the Gardener speaks with profound poetic elegance to the soil, the laceleaf, and the cherry bud. In the absolute vacuum within Arimathea’s event horizon, the Gardener plunges His hands into the rich soil and prepares the earth with words too unlimited and awesome to articulate.
I feel inadequate by the Gardener’s brilliance and yearning.
Dormant and protected by the soil of the garden, I am stirred to the pith and singularity of my emotions by such beautiful verses and libretti. Every day I beg for the hands of the Gardener to stir my earth and dirt and return to me the incarnation of my excellence.
I so much want to believe that life is eternal.
That despite its cold and hardness, death will never extinguish the magnificence that I feel when the Gardener touches my soul and crushes me to a fine dust. At the highest point of consciousness and awareness, only eternity can hold the glorious splendor of life sheltered by Arimathea’s event horizon.
In the Garden of the Resurrection, I hope to recover the love I’ve lost and see my Father and Mother again.
In the late night, I call out to the blessed muse to comfort me as the Gardener quickens the parts of my frozen nucleus and makes my life new. In my higher consciousness, I never forget how wonderful the breath is. As I approach the singularity of my highest consciousness, I never let go of the goodness of virtue and innocence.
Humbled by the Gardener’s affection, I believe in mercy until the sunrise.
In the mighty Tetragrammaton of the Gardener, a forgiving declaration breathes its life across Arimathea, and into eternity the Savior is resurrected from a cold exodus.
The Resurrection is a return to Eden. Buried in Eden’s sacred ground, the Tree of Life dwells. By eating the perfect food of The Tree of Life, death and sickness will be no more.
Arimathea is a young garden on the northern side of my home’s property line. I began planting on its fallow ground about eighteen years ago. Before I planted the Japanese Maple that fronts the garden, I had never planted a living thing. My dad had died a few years prior, and I was still feeling the pain of losing such a great man. His spirit—he was a proficient gardener—inspired me to plant a garden, so I found myself at the local landscaping business surveying the trees. Not sure what I was looking for, I knew when I first laid eyes on the Maple that it was everything I could’ve ever wanted to be my first planting.
Most people probably would’ve started much smaller, but I was moved by Dad’s memory and bought the tree.
The comprehensive process of preparing the ground for the planting of the tree took me longer than I had planned, and before I knew it, it was getting dark.
“What should I do, Dad?” I pleaded into the night. “What should I do? Wait until tomorrow morning to plant your tree?”
The answer came instantly.
“Don’t wait. Tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone. Take action now.”
Visions of my father inundated my mind. A man of action, Dad never put off actions he could take on today.
With a burst of newfound energy, I ran and jumped into my car and drove it to the front of the garden. Using the car’s lights, I continued my work. Three hours later, with the approach of the midnight hour, the Maple was properly planted into the ground that it still occupies today.
It didn’t look like much, standing alone in the night. But even in the darkness, without need of light, I could sense Dad’s spirit coursing through the laceleaf.
The Acer palmatum is, and always will be, the center of the Arimathea Garden.
Years have passed, but the garden is still young and vibrant. With each passing day, the garden becomes younger, harboring and protecting the treasured memories of my life. Within the Arimathea Garden exists the event horizon wherein rests the singularity of my consciousness.
It is my everything.
In the cool night, within Arimathea’s peace and tranquility, I seek the rhyme and reason of life’s seasons. I war against the evil of this existence and wage combat to save and protect the innocence of Life.
My muses are not the loud and boisterous in this world’s chaos. There, within Arimathea’s gentle soil and quiet air, my higher-consciousness fuses with the duality paradoxand catches the metaphysical (spiritual) wave lengths.
In my heart, the muse within the blossom and the leaf arouses my understanding and inflames my soul. I speak with the poetic eloquence of my old essence. And in the romantic emancipation of my soul, I am reborn into a better creation.
Remember me in Paradise, Protector of Elysium. My zealous wish is that the virtuousness I first felt in Your Higher Consciousness of Love infuses my root and branch and enlivens me.
If you remember me into the night, speaking words of Life and Truth, I know I will exist in the good rich soil of Eden, Arimathea, and Heaven forever.
Edited by: Crystal Durnan https://www.animaediting.com
Photos: Alexander Bolado