Amidst the vast expanse of a grassland, lies a garden reflecting hues of yellow and green from its yearly summer bloom of flora. A fleeting glance of the sight cajoles an impeccable imagery of paradise. Oh what a glorious sight.
However at a closer glance, the edges of flowers reveal hints of impending doom; traces of foreign plants, going against the normalcy of what a perfect garden should entail.
Weeds.
Some have walked too long with clouds overhead, and grown to love the dark of shade.
Cowering under the flattery of highly alluring flowers, weeds are grown; out of sight, out of mind. If not careful, by the turn of a season, the summer bloom might just regress into destruction.
Isn't this an apt parallel of our hearts? Whatever we keep secret (or sacred for that matter), in the shade of our beguiling persona, we run the risk of a looming catastrophe.
Navigating the precipice of the heart is a deep sense of vulnerability, an acknowledgement of that which is beyond our control. Weeding the garden of the heart takes immense security, but with rewards far outweighing the smothering subjugation from the weeds.
A musing in my mind of late.
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