what a beautiful story. i have also felt so drawn to the image of a seed cracking open. it feels so very aligned with the work we are doing in our inner healing, in our becoming. so glad we get to do it together here. we get to heal out loud. no longer suffering in silence. sending a big hug your way. 🥰
This is so crucial. And that quote from Julian of Norwich is perfect. She saw a lot very, very clearly. This small nut in the hand looks tiny but is the world.
The sprout in that little nut caught me first… that quiet proof that life begins long before we ever notice it. A reminder of how often we think we’ve lost something holy, when really it’s just been growing underground, waiting for us to look again.
And the Gardener, I just adore him ... steady, patient, never rushing the girl’s becoming ... it feels like watching a seed remember itself. The life inside her, older than shame, older than names, older than the crosses she thought defined her… you showed that with such gentleness.
Some truths don’t arrive with thunder. They rise the way a sprout breaks the shell… slow, certain, already alive.
What’s real in us doesn’t vanish… it only waits to be seen.
what a beautiful story. i have also felt so drawn to the image of a seed cracking open. it feels so very aligned with the work we are doing in our inner healing, in our becoming. so glad we get to do it together here. we get to heal out loud. no longer suffering in silence. sending a big hug your way. 🥰
Thank yoh. Growing togeathervis special
This is so crucial. And that quote from Julian of Norwich is perfect. She saw a lot very, very clearly. This small nut in the hand looks tiny but is the world.
Thank you. The quote was for you
That is very thoughtful of you! Thanks!
Dear Nat,
The sprout in that little nut caught me first… that quiet proof that life begins long before we ever notice it. A reminder of how often we think we’ve lost something holy, when really it’s just been growing underground, waiting for us to look again.
And the Gardener, I just adore him ... steady, patient, never rushing the girl’s becoming ... it feels like watching a seed remember itself. The life inside her, older than shame, older than names, older than the crosses she thought defined her… you showed that with such gentleness.
Some truths don’t arrive with thunder. They rise the way a sprout breaks the shell… slow, certain, already alive.
What’s real in us doesn’t vanish… it only waits to be seen.
Steve
Thank you Steve, that comment touched me. I hadnt noticed the sprout but reading you I see it is the heart of the piece. Thank you for this