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A Better Husband Than The Wind...
You man.... You pluck a blossom from the garden, and act as though it hardly matters....
You pluck a blossom from the garden... and act as though it hardly matters at all.
You take her from the soil of her birth..... and for what... because you like her colour...her bloomed colour... her rounded, curvaceous , shapely petals.... Most of all though, her nectar.... I have seen you drunk on her nectar.
I have seen a certain crazy madness... a crazy ecstasy in your eyes... held in the lines of your body... when you hold her fragile , sweet blossom with both hands ..... With your clumsy hands... as though you could hold her gently enough... as if you could ever hold her gently enough.
You admire her there in the garden... her elegant long stem.... Her neck.. swaying as she laughs with the other flowers... swaying so gracefully amongst the others..... the radiant poppies... the shy irises... the bold and loud sun flowers.... The reluctant dandelions - always waiting for themselves to get blown away... scattering, scattering...
I have seen you looking at her there in the garden, trying to get her attention, but she never sees you - she is full of her own radiant light.... Your lurking shadow behind the hedgerow is no attraction at all for her... she has everything she could ever need or want amongst her sisters... they laugh with each other and admire each other constantly. They have deep conversations about the purpose of life, and they giggle like innocents when the fairies sweep the dew off their petals with the king fisher's iridescent blue feathers.... knowing that they are worthy of that.... Oh yes...... they are worthy of that. ....
Sometimes they just stand there swaying together... like a mesmerised chorus, singing some unheard harmony into the heavens - filling the atmosphere with a symphony of voices - voices that the bees carry back to the hive in their little boom boxes, and play it to the babies......... and hum the new melodies to the queen so that she is blissed and ready for the sun.
They just stand there, swaying together, poised as though they are waiting for something - a mass landing of some sort - they are waiting......
The trees say it is something to do with the pollen...... a dance perhaps..... With those other golden elementals.....
The madness in your eyes increases when you see her bathed in the moonlight and the star light..... You have watched her basking in the glow of the moon light... and the sun light... the twilight.... And the softest of all lights, the dawn light....so soft on alabaster petals....
She has no favourites when it comes to the light..... She enjoys each show
She is not needy of the sun nor resentful of the moon... her petals shut just as well at night..... as do they open in the morning... no, she is not particular to which light she shows her designs off to. An audience is an audience.....
Though I have heard tell of one scandalous little rose........ a rare flower who preferred no light at all... no moon, no stars... just the void... daring little flower, that rose..... no applause required..... a silent symphony....
The trees have been heard to mention that the star light provides applause every night.... A slight chink ling sound was mentioned.... Bells....
But You Man! You still you skulk in the shadows - watching now as she sways at the waist, tossing her curly petals carelessly - even in a strong wind, she lets them blow .... And the wind never shreds them.... They must have a contract those two......
I know you would like to have a contract with her, but you shall never be as gentle a lover or a more attendant husband as the wind.... Even in his most wild out bursts, he never shreds her petals.... Never!!!!
Sometimes he strokes her petals so gently that she quivers... she awaits that gentle touch every day, and he never denies her.
And she knows that he has much to do.... That without him, her garden would not be tended, caressed.... Orchestrated.... Sung to... The wind is her breath.... Without the wind, She would have no one to sing to.... No song for her to hear.
...... If you ask them nicely, the leaves on the trees are always ready to give up the odd earth secret - easily bribed those leaves - just a little attention and they will call in the wind to make themselves dance for you..... busy wind.... Another contract I should think....
They have also been known to divulge that unlike them, the wings and feathers of birds are also exempt from the outrageous gusts that come through the garden when the wind insists on laughing ..... more contracts...
The only comment the wind has been heard saying is "What do you have to do to get a good laugh around here?!!!!"
But you man.... After you pluck her from the garden, will you stroke her petals every day?
I have seen you casually approach her as though you know her.... Brushing past her..... You introduce yourself by touching her..... she is surprised at your touch.... She has known the innocence of foreplay in the butterflies kiss..... the heady ambrosia of the bees dance... either deep inside, or skimming the surface of her most delicate centre... but this clumsy brushing of your hand... your unawareness of the electricity in your fingertips that just singed her..... a butterflies kiss....
Do you know the affect.... The dizzy spell... the faint.... The euphoric connection felt....., when you look straight into her and she feels you. How it feels then when you draw away your attention from her beauty once you have plucked her.....when you retreat from her....What think you then, of the pain she will feel when you pluck her from the garden, without a thought for her.
She would love to talk to you.... To tell you.... But she has turned to you and now she is mesmerised by you...... you are mesmerising for her.... You see.... As the leaves tell it, the moment she takes her eyes off the light, and turns to your attention with an enquiry in her eyes..........., all that light she has seen, bathed under, bloomed under, gets turned onto you.
And now she must keep looking at you..... For she is looking at......, and for..... her light in you...
That is why you search for her in the garden. That is why you would steal her away from the wind, and the sun and the moon and the stars... the dawn and twilight, the grey and white light the blue, green and violet light... the amber and green light... the silver and whispered light...
She is looking for that light in you and if you are willing to look with her, you will be too mesmerised at the magic that you will find with her, that you will never leave the garden, so you will have no need to pluck her from it.
She is the missing piece of your being... the very light... that is why you try to capture her, and put her in a jar... a beautiful jewelled and beaded glass jar.... A screw top jam jar..... a jar just the same. You want to possess her light - the light she is already shining upon you...... living inside you. You already have what you are trying to have......
But don't upset yourself Man..... this is the garden, and there are contracts to be made so that balance can be kept.....just ask the wind....
You can enter into a contact.... For balance.... With the flowers.....they have agreed in a separate conference with the Birds... the birds are very particular to the flowers - guardians perhaps you could say....or you might prefer - counsellors..... They had to be consulted.
The worst keepers of secrets in the garden, The trees..... and their associates, the leaves...... say...... that there is a secret to being the husband of a flower...... a secret that allows you.... Man..... to make her forget even the exquisite touch of the wind tickling her stamen...... there is something even the wind cannot do to make her melt
having it....... keeping it........ loving it..... freeing it.......
So I have to spell it out to you Man..... here it is
When you remove her from the garden... when you touch her or even smell her without reverence and delight.... When you forget to adore and admire her, speak to, and stroke her... when you stop seeing her.....tending to her... when you stop kissing or touching some part of her beautiful shape, every day..... when you are not in awe of her any longer, when you cannot give her your total devotion......
When you stop showing her that you love her
She will begin to die
You man.... You pluck a blossom from the garden, and act as though it hardly matters....
You pluck a blossom from the garden... and act as though it hardly matters at all.
You take her from the soil of her birth..... and for what... because you like her colour...her bloomed colour... her rounded, curvaceous , shapely petals.... Most of all though, you like to get drunk on her nectar.... Her scent...... her delicate stamen.... The golden dust in her centre.... The taste of light on her petals....... Yes I have seen you drunk on her nectar.
I have seen you lose yourself in her.... Heady.....stupid.... giddy.....out of your head.....
I have seen your addiction
Look around your garden, Man
These flowers, these women
Look around your garden and look at what you have done.
When you remove her from the garden... when you touch her or even smell her without reverence and delight.... When you forget to adore and admire her, speak to, and stroke her... when you stop seeing her.....tending to her... when you stop kissing or touching some part of her beautiful shape, every day.....
When you stop showing her that you love her
She will begin to die
You will kill the very thing that has given you life...
Ask yourself Man
Do you have what it takes to be a good husband?
A better husband than the wind?
MaYanya
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Mayanya write's every month for "Mayanya's Cosmic Corner" from her own channellings, understandings and inspiration. The image is one of her channelled artworks which holds light codes for healing and spiritual growth. You can find her on spiritual connections or at the blog and email above if you would like to organise personal sessions.
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