Gardens

Hello little one.

Look how bright, how new you are. Congratulations on making it into this world, only a few hours old, and yet you are so strong. I’m so proud of you already. I can tell you’re a fighter, just like my daughter - your name for her will be 'mum'.

Now my dear, while your beautiful mother rests, I wish to speak with you as you sleep in my arms. And though you do not know what I’m saying, I hope that one day, like I am now, you can hold your own grandchild and tell them what I am about to tell you.

So come, little one. Take a walk with me through one of my most treasured places, one I have tended to since I was so very small. Feel the hum of life, bask in this soft breeze, hear the autumnal crunch of leaves beneath our footsteps. For this may be a figment of imagination, but does it matter if it is yours or mine? This is a place where thoughts, dreams, hopes and ideas are carefully brought to life.

This is a garden of the mind.

It is where shining values are forged – precious stones hidden amidst the earthly embrace of experience and time. These values come from deep within; raw chunks of diamond and emerald growing under the pressures of right and wrong rising from the heart. Or perhaps, they cascaded down in a meteorite shower of awareness that came streaming across your twilight sky, the rocks themselves born from another's mind yet making their home in yours. You can trace their shimmering path through your atmosphere, find their glittering fragments amongst the trees and fields. No matter where these values came from, as they are found, you should find the time to carefully excavate, refine, and shape them into the tools and armour of your sense of self. Into your sense of purpose.

Here is where thoughts and ideas grow, from the smallest flower with the barest of fragrances to the mightiest tree with the deepest roots. The differences, the similarities, and above all the wonder of these rolling flower fields and fruitful orchards will remain with you throughout life. In some places, they may be logically ordered, but in others, a jovial chaos reigns among the wildflowers. Both are natural.

When you are ready, take a lantern and a spade in hand and follow the light down, connect with each root; you will find how they grow, and why they grow. You will find what they have been and what they will be. You will find the entanglement of those roots with other spiderwebbing ideas. Perhaps what seemed at first a small, insignificant idea may be another sprout in the wood of this summertime oak, or hardy pine, or perhaps a gentle willow.

This is the place where dreams are pedestals waiting for the sculptures of one’s achievements, marble bases glinting in the sunlight. They await your masterpiece; the markers of a life sculpted and carved by one’s own hands. But dreams can also be dormant flower beds, not yet seeded, not yet growing, but filled with the soil of hope and watered by potential. They are a promise – more tangible than a wish, and so incredibly fulfilling when finally seen bustling with flowers and creatures and life.

But there must be balance in all things, and so gardens are not wholly joyful.

Throughout life, weeds will grow, ones with jagged thorns and poison in their leaves. And they must be pulled out – even though they can be so painful to hold, to rip from your mind, and even though they may grow back. Trying to cover these weeds with your tools or other flowers will not make them disappear - the rot may spread to what you place beside them, so be careful to see them for what they are.

As dreams are cast aside when something great and terrible happens, the pedestals crumble and the beds decay. Ideas die, their flowers being crushed by doubt and fear, and all seems lost.

But there is hope. There is light. And so, the flowers may be plucked from the ground and gingerly pressed, preserving the wonder of their creation. New life can be grown in the beds, the pedestals can hold new dreams, and even if the trees replanted never capture the sun-rays in the same way, perhaps your aspirations will take you on a journey down a brighter path, to a new part of your garden you have only seen from afar. But always remember that you are not anyone else's gardener. You, and only you, can pull the weeds from your garden, and the same goes for everyone else. Never believe that keeping another's garden safe and clean is your only purpose.

You will also see as you grow that you will meet others with gardens far more colourful or large than yours. You must not be stern with yourself when you are not like them - every person's flowers and trees are different, and that is one of the best things about being human. Do not simply yearn for what they have; learn to grow the seeds and to carve the sculptures with your own hands, in your own light.

The meaning of resilience is found in gardens that have seen fire and flood and have continued to grow, to give their friends and family bouquets of hand-picked hope and love. I so truly hope that you can find the strength to do so when you are grown.

And someday, I truly wish with all my heart that you can look upon your own garden and smile at your achievements. Acknowledge your mistakes and be proud of your triumphs. Reflect on the life you’ve lived. So, my little one, tend to your garden. Let it grow and flourish as you do.

I am sure it will be the brightest sanctuary of all.

• • § • •

I was inspired to write this story after hearing my English teacher wonder what stories she would first read to her child once he was born. I sat and thought about my own grandmother's roses, and about the home and the memories I would create for my grandchildren. I thought about the stories I would write, just for them.

As a teenager, I have had some defining experiences that made me see the importance of mental health, and especially to be aware of how ideas are formed and to be able to recognise what they can become. Having a perfect mind is impossible, but so often we fall victim to hypocritical stigma of the natural experience of living through good and bad. We may never know who around us is struggling, even though struggle is a necessary experience to find ourselves. If I have grandkids one day, I hope they will be able to picture themselves as gardeners of a safe mind, one where badness can be pulled out at the roots without fear. They will find their trees and their pedestals and learn to shape their mind for themselves and only themselves.

This is a story I dedicate to them, if I am lucky enough to meet them one day.