Welcome to this guided meditation called My English Garden.
A personal description of my garden for you to enjoy switching off as a mind meditation tonic.
Please get comfortable seated or lay down fully if you wish.
Stare for a moment and a nice deep fully exhale emptying the breath,
Then close your eyes.
Thank you.
My English Garden.
I am blessed with a garden that hears no noise,
Just the sound of the wind and the birds that sing.
Now there are white trees in the back garden.
Their bark is like paper.
The silver birch trees grow tall and slender,
Smooth to the touch like hand to hand,
Always good connecting to living nature.
The old cooking apple tree becomes my focus every spring.
Flowery pink,
Each petal a small heart shape.
And again how lovely they all look,
But the ground does claim them to rest.
I sit beneath it all,
Dazzled in thousands of pink bright petals,
Each a heart shape.
There are many trees,
But I love this tree the most,
For autumn apples peeled,
Served in pies,
Takes me right back to my childhood,
For there was always an apple pie in the fridge.
And the winter blackbirds,
One eye on the ripe winter remains,
Keep them happy when snowflakes descend.
Now the cherry tree how tall you have become.
All your cherry stones sit upon grassy ground,
An excited feast for garden birds and their offspring.
And I can only watch,
For I cannot pick a single cherry.
Sky high,
You are laden with deep red fruits.
But I love all the garden birds,
As I remind myself we all need to eat to keep alive and well.
One little pear tree hides away from me,
It hugs the garden fence and bushes and thorns seal you in.
Well,
I don't see your fruits until you fall at my feet.
Then sugary sweet grains of pears on my tongue,
Cheeks swell into happiness of candy joy.
I have a Christmas tree all year round,
Potted,
Planted and now into the ground.
So green,
Deep green you are,
The perfect shape that belongs for a star at its very top.
And still there are more trees here,
And I do not know all their names.
Planted before I came to this place,
I now call home.
They have grown into giants,
Tall trees,
Thick warm trunks.
As I stretch my neck up to the sky to see your full glorious height,
And grab a lower branch and swing my legs,
All my back releases all stress,
And I feel like a kid who loves to climb upon them.
A late arrival is my summer house,
Of pine wood and long glass windows,
For my private therapies of crystals and reiki,
And meditation of magical bliss.
It first belonged to my kitten,
Who safely played inside,
Whilst looking at the garden that soon would be his.
The following spring,
He claimed it one year old,
Ready now to be out and free.
My cat is black,
With a dash of white under his chin,
And so I named him Vicar.
The garden wooden table hardly gets used,
Waiting for brighter,
Warmer weather.
Above it,
The outdoor clock,
Bold and big,
Only once in a while I frown at you,
When the batteries stop,
Telling me lies as time goes by without you.
Fairy lights,
Like magic,
Pop on at dusk,
Keeping me a little longer outside.
It's a pleasant and peaceful garden,
And I welcome rest from chores.
An old metal watering can,
For busy hands,
Duty calls,
Filling bird baths and wilting plants.
Pots galore,
And magic daffodils,
That return each year at the first sign of spring.
Yellow rules in this garden,
And I love it.
Now recycle bins and boxes,
Keeping me conscious of my carbon footprint.
Green for house waste,
Red for plastic,
And brown for gardening.
And now my own tea bags,
Go in the brown bin,
When I'm tired of sprinkling on the soil,
The ground,
Finding out they are good for plants.
I love to google,
And gaining knowledge,
Like we all do.
The birdsongs have doubled for me,
For now I have a cat,
That gets me up at dawn and at dusk.
But I like it,
A touch of peace,
And bright songs reach into my heart.
Vicar the cat,
A seed the hedgehog,
That forages for tasty snacks.
He yearns to catch a bird or a mouse.
Blackbirds and robins,
Snails and moths,
Butterfly and bees,
And pigeons on the rooftop.
The air is busy in summer,
And flower trees,
Perfume the breathing air,
The wind.
Lastly,
Before I forget,
Daisies come in their hundreds,
And carpet the grassy floor.
Noticing they are sensitive to sunny days,
And curl up their white petals,
When the sun goes in,
And hide their yellow fluffy centers.
And I remember how much,
I enjoyed daisies as a child.
Making flower jewelry,
A necklace,
A bracelet,
And a ring.
But it's time to take a nice deep breath in.
And another deep breath is good.
As I take you a little deeper into the garden I love.
When the sun goes down,
My sanctuary is the evening twilight,
Like a dear old friend.
Fills a void in my reflecting heart,
That talks to me loud and clear,
When each day is done.
Although I acknowledge the colors of this world,
Daily for a lifetime.
The subtle shades of color,
Like some black and white old tv set,
Of which my childhood did fill.
Sweet light,
Or is it the blue hour,
And life itself,
Silhouetted against the sky.
Soothes my eyes,
Picking up on a different point of view.
I love the carpet grass walk of my back garden.
It is not luxurious,
Nor run down.
It is a place I call a sanctuary.
Outside my four walls of shelter,
And all the things I do.
It slows me down,
Entering a different kind of breathing.
Sensitivity rushes in,
Guiding me,
Supporting.
All my senses,
My mind,
So fully absorbing.
I know I need to release the day,
Through the evening twilight.
Sweet light,
Like a dear old friend.
I confess nature is my therapy,
So soothing to the eyes of my very soul.
For at night,
The back garden is still lit up,
And patterns of nature,
The hand that touches the bark of a tree,
Or a valley of different leaves.
I've always remembered from young,
That nature will always be free.
It's seasons,
That note how the world does faithfully,
Evolve around time.
I'm noticing,
But also putting my faith,
In the natural laws of Mother Earth.
My eyes,
My soul,
Point me to look,
As autumn falls.
To look up,
Of geese,
Flying,
Migrating.
The geese excite me,
For I will always hear them,
Before I see them.
Seeing their flight pattern,
Like an arrowhead,
Pointing,
Going forwards.
And starlings,
Lined,
Like a row of donumos.
Neatly,
They perch,
Onto a rooftop.
The bird patterns,
They all make,
In the sky.
On a height level,
I will never,
Physically touch.
For I am grounded.
Grounded to Earth.
And how the first man,
On the moon,
Noted his first step upon it.
This great achievement,
And noted one,
Giant leap,
For mankind.
Are we proud,
To walk the Earth?
Is our each,
One small step,
Leaving a print,
For mankind?
The word man,
But the word kind,
Is lighted,
With a torch.
When we walk down a busy street,
And pass yet another stranger,
Who is yet a human.
We do not know,
What challenges have been,
Individually faced.
In the old saying,
There is always someone,
Worse off than you.
Sorrow,
Self-pity,
The source of stagnation.
So I look to nature,
Just like my garden.
Learning the skills of life,
And the way of the natural world,
Inspires me.
We too,
Need to keep inspired.
There's a flute,
That sings to our ears of communication.
On a global scale,
Through technology,
Yet touching other souls.
We must keep achieving,
And deliver the unseen.
The vision of sanctuary,
And hope.
For sanctuary,
Defines itself,
As a sacred place,
A shrine,
A haven,
And a place of safety,
For humans,
For animals,
For plants.
The sanctuary of mankind,
And that is Mother Earth.
Bless you,
And thank you.
