prune
the art of making space for what wants to bloom
In the last article, we brought the lens into the garden. One of the things we examined was the jasmine. There was one growing so wonderfully, ease-fully, and abundantly in the bed surrounded with a variety of other beings. Another was struggling under the shade of the mango tree.
It is obvious that the solution to this problem for the stunted tree would be to cut back the canopy of the mango a bit. Manage the light pouring in. Create breathing room.
Sure enough, this was the right move.
Peculiarly, after observing through the phases of some moons, it became apparent that the once-proliferating jasmine in the community setting became stagnant. Hm. Was this seasonally aligned? Was something else happening?
The answer was simple. She needed a pruning.
To bring clippers to a living, breathing entity is intimidating. It feels cruel. Unnatural, perhaps. But through observation and communication, a relationship has developed. The merging of native tongues has been primed and nourished over time.
In order to bring reawakened vitality to this jasmine, many branches will need to be cut off. Dead skin must molt. There must be space made for new beginnings.
It is common folklore to plant seeds on the New Moon. The soil is rich + fertile. Night on Earth gestates in the dark womb. The energy is inward. It is found in the depths of the land, in the roots. For this reason, not only is it an aligned time to plant seeds underneath the surface, but it is ideal for pruning as well. With the vital force of the plant resting deep in the roots, there is less energy being chopped away. It is the most sustainable practice in maintaining health while simultaneously making room for what yearns to emerge.
Now, let’s identify what this mirror is lending insight into. Let’s shift the lens from looking into the garden to looking within. The opportunity for breakthrough discovery is heightened during the winter season, when, already, much lies still + silent in the dark hours of day outweighing light.
As I marinade in this womb, what do I notice contributes to my vitality? My life force?
What has become draining and heavy? A browning region that no longer produces any flowers?
What needs to be pruned?
What am I mourning the loss of with the decision to cut it off completely? To recognize + accept it is something I can not nourish any longer?
What needs sustenance now in preparation for spring?
What new blooms patiently await unfurling into light?
This is the threshold the alchemical lens enters. This is nigredo in anticipation of albedo. The darkness + dissolution preceding the purification + cleansing. It is not an overnight process. It is unique to the rhythm of each individual.
When we have operated within a particular structure for an entire lifetime, it is terrifying to allow it to change. We try to continue feeding what has always existed because that is what we know. It is what we are comfortable with. When it stagnates, our first impulse is to look outside and around it. What out there needs fixing? We trim back the mango tree. We have more room to breathe… sweet relief. For a moment.
When we realize that the only real control we have is over ourselves, we become simpler. Quieter. More available. We become less certain of who we are or have told ourselves to be; we become open to what wants to emerge… in the luminous light of the full moon, in the growing sunlight of springtime. While we might not be able to predict what will bloom, there are no more old branches in the way.
