Where I am tired the garden revitalizes me with her soft paw-massage

 

Children's book about homebirth: Born at home..

A first impression

 

A flower in waves

When mama's waves start
she has to open like a flower
I wonder, are the flowers.
also riding waves when they open?

This Poppy flower smiles, feeling fine,
in the song of her own beauty.

Zhilan, Gardener, Faun

Ahooo, it seems like I just wrote a fairytale and it took a ride with me! I had an idea where it would go and than things came very different and I realized a personal story wanted to be metaphorized. The story became like a being for me, helping me to digest, give meaning and comfort my feelings of guilt. Why I still never said sorry? I just followed my nature, what else could I have done? The comfort is that all is one. It really is. Love. 

Zhilan, Gardener, Faun 

There once was a Geisha her name was Zhilan. She had a garden that was made exactly in the form of her body, only it was a thousand times as big. Most of Zhilan’s gardenbody was covered with all sorts of white flowers, like lilies, roses and chamomile.
Zhilans mouth was represented by strawberryred poppyflowers. Her navel was a little pond wherin a few lotusflowers drifted peacefully and  for each of her nipples there were growing two encyclia orchid flowers with their open hearts together on two hills covered with jasmine. The sweet fragrance  came very close to  the angels in it’s reaching out for heaven.
For Zhilan’s hair the gardener strew seeds every hour so the black raven flew down from the lush blooming yulan magnolia trees growing around her gardenhead,  to eat. This way the raven poetically metaphorized the aliveness of Zhilan’s hair on and on and on, each and every day again. The contrast ravenblack/magnoliawhite often made Zhilan philosophate about yin and yang, night and day. Her thoughts often resulted in a haiku or inspired her to dance. She danced how day became night around her gardenbody. Zhilan’s admirers always came to her, walked with her around the flowerbody.  Each day important men and woman came, drank tea with Zhilan and she exposed them all kinds of art and beauty.

One day the gardener found Zhilan crying her tears in the pond.
>Why, noble lady Zhilan are you crying in your navel?>
Zhilan immediately composed herself, whipping away her tears discretely with a point of kimonocloth. One crane’s beak got wet.
>What, my rude gardener makes you believe you can just come to me and ask me such a question, concentrate on the flowers, I am sure there are some dying around at the moment. Go and erase them.<  She felt sorry for her own rough way of talking right after saying this words, but she looked in another direction and heared him leave.

Something about the darkness of being a Geisha, Zhilan thought, was upsetting her deeply and brought her out of grace and beauty. She went to her feet for some silence, it was shortly before sundown and she felt disturbed, imagining to hear her name in the ravens crowing.  She sat down under a Ginkotree, a few meters from her feet. It was perfectly quiet and the cold shadow falling over her calmed her mind. >Look there are WEEDS growing here< a tricksters voice spoke. And as she jumped up shocked, she looked in Faun’s absurd face.  >Eatable< he added and smiled at her, eating the herb. Zhilan felt caught and started laughing in her right hand. >Are you sure you belong in this story mister Faun?< she asked. He nodded. >Yes, for sure, to teach you nothing belongs to be in a certain way different than the way it is. You can pack your perfect little expensive suitcase my sweet flower, we are going on a journey!’ 

And so she did and so they went. Zhilan did not care now about the raven they seemed to crow her name now much louder. For heavens sake she was riding Faun’s back in the direction of a bloodred sunset. Zhilan felt like a star getting born, an explosion of love. Her hair flappered in the wind like a crowd of raven in flight. The gardeners mouth fell open, and O shaped like this it looked like the whole earth would fit in his astonishment when he heard his noble lady screaming like a wild amazone and saw her riding a goatmen’s back.


First the gardener was so sad that he did not fulfill his tasks anymore. He left the dead flowers where they died. He cried in the pond until it swam over and drowned the flowers around. He did not feed the raven anymore. Many of them left the Magnolia-trees and flew away. Maybe looking for Zhilan, or maybe just looking for something to eat. With time the garden grew very chaotic and wild and the gardener too grew chaotic and wild. He loved to play living statue becoming part of it all. Each flower was now Zhilan for him and he himself was Zhilan too. There are many songs about this, blewn by the wind, all over the world. Listen. 

Tiny grass dreams

The tiny grass breathes besides the cemetery the dreams of the death.
At no other place the human heads are so close to the earth and even part of it.
They are one now with the dirt and the plants around are channeling their dreams.
Each fresh head still full of the life it lived,
a young girls laughing,
a wish blewn out of the window with a chinese lantern.
A wish for health, for more seaside hollidays
...
The older skulls grow quiet.
One with the stones where their names are written on, one with the sky
and the cold water in the vases and the insects.
The time gives all death the peace of heaven.

The tiny grass is silently celebrating oneness.
The aliveness of everything around comes over them, flows through,
like the wind bowing all their feelers to one side.
They dream they are on a planet and each and every one of them has a soul
and a purpose even though they are one forever.
They dream their good-feeling fever and bow and bow.
They dream the moon is their Goddess.
They dream they love her.
They enjoy to reach out in quiet longing.
They dream they sang aerials aerials before they came to the planet
and this caused their clean and green existence.
Inside out arose the greenness of their vivid souls.

Tiny grasses dream about snow
The moon laying herself on them
weightless and cold
so their dreams grow
immaculately white
and wider.