Secrets from the Eichstätt Garden. First Plates.

Cornflowers and Strawberries.

Summer at her best, pulsing the blood into bluer veins and redder arteries. Alive to live, to love, to return to our true nature.

In October the wise sigh to say: it is all so perfect as it is. Clearly: by the flame within now on display in yellow, organge and red, and much settling in browns.
Breathing easy, they watch the same perfect potential fall to earth, within a spark waiting to begin anew. Is there any month that encourages us better to work our blue clay into a manifestation of our Real Self?

Who can be discontent

with all that was and now must be as it was, before it can become again? Not the one with a heart for a mouthpiece.
To fret insecure is to declare the now stagnant because nobody has anything with which to push it into motion. As if the pause is not self-propelling of the music that it follows.

You cannot escape

the mundane; only the delusion that you might die of fright and be crushed by the pending horrors.

In trust

we find the goodness that is abundant in the eye of the heart.

In vainglory

the caricature of man looks at nature and names her and consumes her as if she were a woman for the taking, as long as you paid her for her time and patient recurring.

Change in response to the other.

The mood of man is to prod the other, penetrate them with a needle and a shot of something slightly toxic to get them to react with a rash and intolerant response.

We would do better to find ourselves a lover to hush us and lull us to sleep. And once known for who we really are, restored to our True Self, we would return the favour. This is to commune. The kind of communication found in the taste of fragaria and the soothing hydrosol of centaurea.

The Greatest Gift to Self

May you replenish your spiritual self from day to day in the knowledge of how short a time you have to flower and set fruit. Learn from fearless nature how to. Know well that there is no logic to it; one can only turn to the observatory of the heart where fear has no lens for logic.

Focus the long breath that will pull you through winter and be calm, my friends, be calm, while the hibernian storms sweep the promise of the living future across the bone dry ice of your ignorance, that will become the water that colours you blue and red again, if you let it.