Blooming In June

Blooming In June

 

Sometimes teaching can feel like a slog. You work and work and can't tell what is sticking. Teaching meditations and the Craft mean that while you can ask questions you can never really tell what is happening and what is not. So those lovely moments when you *wells up* see a blossoming really lift you. This weekend both students blossomed. D seemed tired and struggled with his focus during some guided meditations and I couldn't tell where his head was at. Then Sunday we went on a drive and he seemed clearer. Then we (myself, TK and D) worked on his wand. We cut and sanded, and set a couple of crystals in it. Something beautiful and powerful emerged from the wood and from himself. I could see he got it. It was a good moment.

E had her own blooming marvelous moment too. We messaged each other backwards and forwards about her personal journey, who she saw herself as and the people around her that "didn't get her". This moment where she could see that there was not something wrong with her, only that she had yet to find her own space to grow and be loved by those around her. What happened next blew me away. I knew she was a talented artist but she drew on the candle and joy meditations and in her journal created a piece of stunning art from it. It radiated a joy, and a deep unspoken understanding.

I even had folks from The Key Facebook group who thought they were struggling and after having a brief chat I could see they were getting it really well. Using the practice IN their lives. Adapting it to their needs and pace. Blooming seems to happen all at once, but the truth is it takes time and space and light. Slowly, slowly the flower buds and then there is a slight pause, a holding of breath, an unsureness. Then it can not be contained and bursts forth.

This seasonality sometimes stumps people. They do not understand why they do not bloom all the time. Yet there is a time for roots. A time to dig deeply into the dirt. A time to grow. A time to let go of the seeds and see what grows. A time of frost. A time of dying back, a seasonal death. Yet the cycle continues either in seed or from roots deep in the ground. 

Today I feel less the like a teacher and more like a gardener. My garden looks beautiful to me!

The Key.

My Poems.