Part 1: Gardeners of the Heart— A love letter to nature, remembrance, and the sacred art of tending the soul
They paved paradise…
and planted illusions.
Steel towers and blinking screens rose where once only sky stretched wide -
where roots once drank from deep Earth,
and hearts still knew how to listen.
But not all has been lost.
The wild still whispers.
The wind still sings your name
through pine and petal,
in birdcall and breeze,
in the soft hush of rain kissing the forest floor.
The medicine is still here —
tucked gently in leaf and root,
in the waters that still remember
how to nourish
what has not yet forgotten how to bloom.
We were never meant to live apart from this.
Our health, our peace, our very breath
was woven with the green thread of the world.
When we are pulled away —
into endless scrolling,
artificial light,
the sterile hum of man-made rhythm —
we begin to ache.
Not just in body,
but in the heart of who we are.
This ache is holy.
It is the call of the Divine Creatrix —
the Great Mother —
stirring our slumbering souls
to rise,
to remember.
You were not born for concrete.
You were born for communion.
You were born for trees
and stories shared with flowers.
To breathe with the forest,
to dance in moonlight,
to weep beside rivers,
to hear the song of your own soul echoed in birdsong.
I have walked this path —
a gardener not just of soil,
but of soul.
And I was given a name from the heart of the Earth herself:
Gardener of the Heart.
To garden the heart is to walk with love —
to tend the tender places,
to plant soul-seeds in darkened ground,
to let what blooms
be wild,
honest,
and whole.
You do not need a garden to begin.
Step outside.
Place your hand upon a tree.
Let your breath meet theirs.
Inhale the life of a rose,
or the memory of rain.
Place your palms over your heart,
softly, reverently.
And see…
from that place of truth within you.
Let this be your practice, your prayer.
The Sacred Ones are waiting.
The Great Mother sings.
The wild rejoices.
And the Earth,
in her grace,
welcomes you home.