Deep Roots

I enter my garden to pull surface weeds
that cover the ground but do not run deep.
I gather and toss yet some require digging
with persistence to reach a tap root, the source.
I call these the weeds of destruction.
So old, rooted and bound
they direct and tether the entire garden.

In digging, I observe a memory bound.
I pull a root of betrayal,
release a tendril of exclusion,
tug at the source of not being enough,
release belief systems formed in roots—
a weighted veil of perception through which
to interpret life around my garden.

I observe then pull to release, not to grow again.
With diligence and contemplation in heavy heart
I bring forward buried memories to wander through,
wounds to ponder with a fresh perspective to view.
It requires a soulful yearning to reach the depth
to release, to free, to be, in a state of autonomy
driven by now rather than was.

Pulling weeds is tiresome.
The result, a garden growing alive
with freedom to breathe, to express
in many colors and variety,
to more freely allow moisture
to penetrate, to heal, to refresh,
to be at peace.

(image my own)