These days it feels as though touch is ever more important. I need the soft mulch of the labyrinth under my feet, the cool rain drops left on the deck, the stone in my hand, the basil picked for the sauce. In the midst of the torrent images of war, and genocide, floods, fires and carefully curated social selves, to close my eyes and touch something takes me to the ground where healing and hope are possible.
So, when a friend mentioned her spouse (a spinner and knitter) was dying yarn with flowers from their backyard something in me leaped. Beauty I touched and tended all summer could flow into something that would touch and tend me this fall. This week I am being discipled in dyeing.
I am touched by flowers picked with gratitude for what they are giving, time spent over simmering pots, surprising colours blossoming softly in the yarn.
May you take some moments slow;
May you touch holy ground.
May you touch the Holy Ground.
May there be soft blossoming within you.
You can find a guided meditation that invites you deeper into receiving the gifts of the garden here.
