Grandfather Great Spirit, A Story Of Recovery
On March 22, 1987, I finally made the decision to live. My grandparents provided their loving presences, and home, for me for four days, while I detoxified from sixteen years of drug abuse and alcoholism. Over the course of my lifetime, they had already provided a constant, unwavering loving presence for me, even while I felt no love for myself, or my life. My grandfather eventually came to represent the very presence of God’s love for its children over the course of our shared life, and that love helped to prepare me for the engagement to the real purpose for my life. The following story is my message of gratitude and love, to give back to all who have helped me to “prune my thorns”.
Thank you, Grandfather Great Spirit, for your presence continues to daily guide me into my own promised land, which I gladly share with all who are receptive. For most of life, I would have preferred death over speaking my truth to those that persecuted me. And, I had little connection with any creative potential within me. But an experience in early March of 2017 convinced me that I need to speak up, and honor my own creative potential Though I never dreamed of being a spokesman for higher possibilities in life, my spirit demanded that I honored its calling, through the only way that I knew how. I have since written several short stories, and several manuscripts that might have become books, had I been more motivated, and less controlled by the effects of early childhood trauma. Here is the first story that I ever wrote, at the young age of 61 years. I have never edited the original writing, it is presented in the exact, unedited form it took in its first two days of transmission from the deepest part of myself, from March 5-7, 2017.
Grandfather, Great Spirit, Thank you,
by Bruce Paullin
Long ago, there lived in a cottage far outside of the limits of the city, a gardener and his wife. They were both quite dedicated to their simple, quiet life of country living, being surrounded and embraced by all of its natural beauty. They developed quite a nursery, and they were able to provide a sustainable living for themselves through the sales of the plants, trees, and flowers that they raised. Eventually, they had one son together, whom they came to worship, from the moment of his birth. The family lived a normal, happy life, and learned how to love, enjoy, and respect each other at the highest, most loving levels through all of their years together. But, as their beloved son reached the age of maturity, he started to stray from the high standards set for him by his parents. After a series of unproductive discussions, and then an avalanche of angry arguments, their son left in a storm of bitter, angry words to lead his own life in the city, with the son vowing to never come back home, leaving his shocked, grieving parents alone.
The parents still had so much love to give to their world, and they contemplated how they might give that to others, now that they had the extra free time. The idea came to dedicate a major portion of their property to creating a garden space, and their time came to become devoted to the planting of their gardens, of which a portion they had committed to many types of flowers. The wife had always admired the beauty and complexity of the rose-bush, so they dedicated a major section to roses, as well. They knew that the roses required utmost care and attention, to be able to unfold into their greatest natural beauty, so for many years, they carefully monitored and managed their rose garden. Weeds were not allowed to grow up around their prized bushes, nor were the bushes themselves allowed to grow haphazardly, thus the rose bushes were trimmed back perfectly at the start of each new growing season, with them remaining fascinated by each gentle step of all of their rose bushes growth. Each little bud that appeared was nurtured and cared for, and those that did not manifest their true, beautiful nature were trimmed back, to make room for those who could. Of course, each bush had its thorns, which nature provided so as to protect the vulnerable buds, and flowers, from its natural enemies. The gardeners respected natural law, and also understood that wayward thorns would cause harm to themselves, or to their inattentive admirers, so all of the thorny branches were cut back, enough to preserve their natural beauty, while exposing all of their beautiful flowers for all to see and admire.
Over the years, their rose garden became quite renowned for its beauty and magnificence, and it came to be visited by people from all around the area. People loved to both admire each unique rose-bush from a distance, as well as to come close to each bush, and bath their senses with each budding flowers’ sweet fragrances and essences. The couple had become master gardeners, with their spirits merging with the offspring of their heavenly garden. They truly grew together, the gardeners and the rose bushes, and all who came to witness their creations admired, and honored as one, the creators and the creations. The couple’s secret was that they channeled the same love that they had reserved for their only son, to give back to their prized roses. They had long ago stopped asking why their only son did not respond the same way of the flowers, as the pain was just too great to bear, though they continued to follow his life from afar.
The years passed by, and the aging couple could no longer manage their large rose garden with the love, care, and attention of the past. They gradually focused on fewer, and fewer, rose bushes, as their mobility had become quite limited, and their energy quite low. Finally, they only had the energy left for one bush, to which they dedicated the last of their energy. The flow of admirers to their garden had long ago stopped, as word had spread of the deterioration of the garden. The couple had their memories, which still brought them great satisfaction, while caring completely for that last bush, which was closest one to the door to their cottage. All of the other bushes continued to grow unattended, becoming wild and unruly, and eventually overwhelmed the rest of the garden. In their heart of hearts, they remembered that this final rose-bush represented the love that they had for their son, whom long ago they had stopped hoping that would ever return to them. Reports of the success of their son still trickled in, carried in by their very occasional visitors, with a rumor being reported that they might even be grandparents, but who knows for sure? Every attempt to contact him had continued to be spurned.
One morning, the husband woke up, to hug and caress his wife, as he had every morning, for the last fifty years. Yet, this morning, there was no response from his wife. Death had finally found his wife, and he cried out in anguish, being absolutely devastated. He could feel his own life force slipping away, as well, and felt an urge to finish his own business, as his time was extremely limited. He grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote one final message, and placed it in his shirt pocket. He then grabbed a hidden shoe-box, in which he had stored all of their life savings, and then he limped out to the garden shed, and grabbed a shovel, and went to his rose garden one final time. Behind their last prized rose-bush, he carefully dug a grave for his beloved, with the prized rose-bush intended to become her headstone. He also dug a hole in front of the next rose-bush, which was currently in such a sad condition, yet, it might take on new significance in an unknown future, he thought, should his final prayer be answered. He placed the shoebox in the ground, and buried it, tamping the dirt down firmly so that it was not obvious that anything was buried there. Then he proceeded to bury his beloved wife, and when he placed the final scoop of dirt, he laid his weary, worn out body upon his wife’s burial mound, pressed his tear washed face to the loose dirt, and life then drifted away from his body into eternity, his body sharing his wife’s headstone for now.
A couple of days passed, and when the postman noticed the mail had not been picked up, he walked to the cottage door to inquire about their health. The door had not been locked, so when nobody answered, he looked inside and saw that it was empty inside. He then walked around the outside of the cottage, and came upon the couple’s resting place. He knew, in that moment, that he was now a witness to love’s most sacred and beautiful expression that he had ever seen. He became overcome with grief, initially, then he felt admiration and love for this beautiful couple, of which he only knew so superficially before, through the exchange of pleasantries at the mail box.
The postman called the appropriate authorities, and the gardener’s body was removed and taken to a local mortuary. The police contacted the son, who expressed no interest in claiming it. The manager of the mortuary knew that he would have to treat the body as “unclaimed”, which meant an anonymous burial. The manager was so moved by the face of the deceased man, who even in death, seemed to give off a special radiance, that he contacted the postman who had found the body, to see if he knew of any next of kin besides the son.
The postman was quite troubled by the call, and began to regret calling the authorities to the body, thinking that he should have just buried him instead. But, he knew that, in his position, he might be able to help. His manager helped him with sending a system wide communication to all local and regional postal carriers, requesting that if they delivered mail to anyone with the same last name as the deceased, to please let them know immediately. As luck would have it, he received two replies. There was a family that lived on the far side of town, as well as a PO box address had been recently rented in the main downtown office, with the same last name.
A phone call was placed to the home, but the woman who answered knew of nobody with the name of the deceased. She remembered her estranged husband telling her, long ago, of the death of his grandparents before his birth, so the man could not him. Well, there was one final hope, and that was with the recently opened PO box. The postman requested information from the post office box registration form about its purchaser. He noticed the registration showed a first name of Gary, with a middle name, Brian, which was the same first name of the deceased. Could this be a relative, or was this just a coincidence?
The postman fashioned a post card with information about the dilemma around claiming the body, and had it placed in the PO box of Gary. Unless Gary was a relative, Brian’s body would be cremated and stored in an urn, and he would be forgotten for all of time. It all felt so wrong to the postman, that this deceased man of such obviously good stature would be treated with such indifference by his world.
Gary finally began to awake, but the searing headache and accompanying nausea that seemed to dominate his morning wake up calls discouraged him from quickly arising from his cot in the shelter. “How on earth can I continue going on like this?”, thought Gary, as he tried to muster enough energy to dress himself, from the clothes that he had carelessly strewn about the floor next to his cot the night before.
He briefly thought of his estranged wife and son, and the horror of their final rejection of him that still stung deep to his core. He also briefly thought of his mother, whom he still loved, and deeply missed, and his father, whom he had alienated himself from many years before. His last communication with his father was so horrible and ugly, that he cringed whenever he thought of it, so he tried not to think of it now, even ten full years after leaving his parents in an explosion of mutual anger and animosity. What possible reason is there to go on, now that he had no family, employment, or friends, and he had no hope for the future?
His last employer had just fired him two months ago, for his performance and attendance had been lagging as of late, and now he had nothing to look forward to doing, except to stew in his own misery. He attempted to hide from that suffering through his favorite chemical cocktails, which had stopped providing relief long ago. But, habits that die-hard were making him die harder, and the pain had to stop, even if it meant stopping his own life.
He looked into his wallet, and saw that he had little money left to finance his daily binges. The shelters’ walls felt like they were closing in around him, ready to trap him in this prison for all of eternity. With panic descending upon him, he urgently thrust himself outside of the shelter door, in search of, who knows what? What is there to find, when a person has given up hope for his life, and for finding his life’s true purpose? Maybe, he thought, his purpose is to die, to somehow provide a dark lesson plan for others, perhaps even for his son, on which path that they dare not follow, lest they lose their own sanity, and life, as well.
“Well, I must find some more money, either through begging, borrowing, or stealing”, he thought to himself, as this looked like the only option now, as his income sources had dried up.
He then remembered that his past employer was to send to him a final severance check, and a dark light went on inside of him, telling him that with this income he could buy a gun, and end this drama forever. His heart began to race, and cold sweat erupted all over his body, and he knew that he had better start self-medication soon, or he would not even have the composure to complete any necessary transactions. He made his way to the main post office, where he had recently rented a box for his mail. This PO box was the only place that he could call his own now, and he felt so small, and insignificant, and did not even attempt to ponder the why’s or the what’s about his life, as these internal inquiries always came back empty.
Upon opening the box, he was disappointed to find no severance check from his employer, and helplessness and misery continued to overwhelm him. But, he noted a small post card from a mail carrier from an outlying rural area of the county. He read the card, read and understood the request of the carrier, and was immediately struck by how indifferent he was to the plight of the mail carrier.
“Why should I care about some unclaimed body?” he thought, even though the deceased had the same last name as his own.
His mothers’ parents lived across the country, and he rarely saw them as he grew up. On his father’s side, he had lost those grandparents, even before he was born. He knew of no other family members with a similar last name, so he cast the card into the garbage on the way out the door.
How was he going to end his life today, now that he had no money to try drink himself to death like he had done daily for the past two months, or to purchase a gun for one final solution to his problems? In his helplessness and desperation, he called out once again to a God that he never understood, or believed in, in yet another vain attempt to find a solution to a problem that he could not understand. He was quite accustomed by now, to talking with people who could not listen to him, and seeking love from people who had no love to give, so the deadly silent answer he received back from the God of his misunderstanding felt almost normal to him by now.
As he drifted along the sidewalk, the idea came to him to go to the mortuary, and to see if the deceased man had any assets that he could falsely claim as his own, so that he could finish his own business as well, and perhaps join the stranger on his own personal death slab.
The mortuary was on the other side of town, and since all that he had was time, and misery, he thought that the time spent walking to the mortuary might pay off, if he could deceive the people about who he was. Gary eventually made it to the mortuary, tired and anxious, and entered the double front door into the foyer, seeking someone to talk with. That moment the manager was walking by, and engaged Gary in conversation, asking him what he could do for him. Gary then, while still uncomfortable from his unfulfilled cravings for drinks and drugs, stated that he may be a long-lost relative of the deceased, and asked if he could have any assets that the man may have had on his body at the time of death. The manager eyed him closely, and was struck by a vague similarity between this disheveled young man, whom he estimated to be around 30 years old, and the deceased man lying on a cold slab in the far back room of the mortuary.
“Let me take a look at your identification, sir, if you will, please”, asked the manager.
Taking the photo identification, he saw that the man before him had the same last name as the deceased, as well as a middle name the same as the first name of the deceased, and he thought,
“Perhaps this man really is related”.
The manager took Gary to the back room, and led Gary to the body. Gary took a deep breath, and began to look at the body, first starting at the feet, and gradually making his way to the man’s head.
“I am only here for the money,” he reminded himself, as he began the distasteful process of attempting to look concerned, while viewing the stranger’s body.
But, a feeling a recognition began to bubble up with Gary’s mind, and he became surprised, when he recognized, in spite of the deceased man’s wrinkled face, his own fathers’ eyes, nose, and chin on this deceased man,
“How could this be?” he thought. “Is this man a long-lost uncle of my father, or, perhaps an unknown twin of my deceased grandfather?”
Nothing made sense to him, and his anxiousness and his racing heart gave way to a sense of grief, and loss, and his heart hurt, unlike any hurt that he ever felt before.
“Why don’t I know this man? He must be related to me!” he thought. He then repeated his constant litany of complaints against life, which included such dark thoughts as
“This man, even if he is family, never loved me or cared about me. Why should I care about him? He is dead, and so am I. Why did life do this to me? I must be some sort of aborted child of god, or some red-headed step child of an unloving family, and universe that needs to punish me for being myself. Why should I even care about anybody, anyway, because nobody ever listened to me, acknowledged me, or cared for me in any meaningful way that I could recognize?, Anyway, I don’t remember what love feels like or looks like, and maybe my curse is to never make its acquaintance, or to have my voice heard by anybody who cares.”
But, Gary’s curiosity was tickled a bit, and he found the energy to ask the manager if anybody else had come to look at the body. The manager had answered no, and Gary then felt some other difficult feelings, which felt unsafe for him to express with the manager of the mortuary.
For some unknown reason, he felt anger rising to the level of his consciousness, and he also felt the sense of betrayal yet again, at the hands of his father, which he had already previously experienced in a myriad of other ways, This made him feel worse than he could ever remember feeling before, and he felt that he could not be wronged one more time. He had already walked out on his father several years before, after he was once again publicly humiliated by him at a major social function that was honoring his successful dad, and his fathers’ efforts in the community.
“Hmmm, maybe I won’t wait for the alcohol to kill me now, perhaps its time to become proactive in my demise, for I can no longer live this lie that my life has become”, he thought to himself.
“The closer I get to any truth about my life, the more miserable I feel, and this can’t go on any longer.”
He then sealed the deal in his mind, making the decision that it was time to take whatever money his grandfather may have had left, buy a gun, and end it all.
“Do you think that the county records would have any useful information for me, if I were to go there and make an inquiry?” asked Gary.
The manager replied that there could be little harm in asking a few questions of them, and then encouraged Gary to make the trip to the building where all county records were stored. It was beer thirty, to be closely followed by Gin eighty proof, to be followed by a blackout, hopefully, if Gary’s daily life plan went according to the standards set by his previous two months of life, so whatever mission he was on, he needed to quickly finish. Finding enough money to finish the job was his only intention, at this point.
As he walked to the house of records, Gary vaguely recollected stories his dad used to tell him about his ancestors. His great-grandfather had immigrated to America fairly early in the last century, and had adapted his original family name into a unique name for himself and his family, and all of his ancestors to follow. He also heard a few stories about his great-grandfather’s alcoholism, and how that disease disfigured and punished the family horribly. The children were beat within inches of their lives, and his wife was eventually beaten to death by his great-grandfather during a drunken blackout. Well, he thought to himself, at least I did not beat my wife and children in the style of my great-grandfather, though he then intuited that he might have beat them up in other, less obvious ways.
His last name must still be a fairly uncommon name, only shared by direct family members, as far as he could reason. After an exhaustive search of the records, it was found that the only record available about family name, other than that was recorded for his father and for himself, was another deed that was recorded with that same, unique last name, some fifty years before. But, there was no record of this home owner’s death. Gary had been told since he could remember that his grandparents had died, years before his own birth, so nothing made sense, except for the fact that, perhaps, his own father had lied to him his whole life about his origins.
With more questions than answers, Gary returned to the mortuary, with a copy of the original deed to the deceased man’s home. Gary then asked the manager as to the location from which the body had been picked up from. The manager went to his office, and after a brief search returned with the original paperwork generated through the processing of the incoming body. The addresses were identical! Still feeling cold-hearted, and rejected one final time, Gary acknowledged that this must be a relative, and could he please have his wallet now?
The manager called an associate, who located the box where all of the contents in the deceased man’s pockets were being held. Gary was led back to the same large chilled room in the back of the complex, where Gary was also presented with the man’s possessions. Gary hesitantly walked back over to the man, and gazed upon his old, broken body again. He then began to cry uncontrollably. Gary had not cried in years. and this emotional outburst was totally unexpected, and uncharacteristic, of how he had learned to behave. Gradually, as the tears subsided, the identity of this man became obvious to him.
Gary informed the manager, that the man had to be his grandfather, and that he wanted all of his grandfather’s possessions. The manager delivered the contents within the man’s pockets, which included a wallet with $22, and a sealed letter that was in his front shirt pocket. The manager handed the note to Brian, who then promised to take it outside to read it, He really was heading to the liquor store first, however, to spend the last $22 on the cheapest booze that he could find, so that he might have enough to poison himself to death, since he did not have enough money for a gun. On the way back to the park, where Gary occasionally drank by himself, Gary stopped to open up the letter to read it. Even though the note had been written by a feeble old man, the writing was quite legible, and so Brian sat down, sans his best friend alcohol, which he would purchase later and finally began to read it.
Dear Grandson,
You do not know me, but oh, how I know you! I am your grandfather. I know that this must be a shock to you, to have to hear about me under such conditions, but this is the way of our world sometimes. I do not know what path that you had to travel to get here, to finally find the truth about you, and your life. But I also know that it is what was necessary to get you to this point in this first place, where you can finally “hear my voice’, even if it must be from the grave.
Your father was a fine son to me, and he had such a wonderful countenance all through his childhood. His smile brought such joy and happiness to your grandmother and me, and we thanked our Creator daily for the miracle of his beautiful life, and the open heart that he was blessed with. Like all growing children, he needed guidance and direction, which we gave to him lovingly, and without reservation, whenever he lacked direction, or when we saw that he was straying from his unique path of goodness. He was so open to learning that he was naturally a great student, and he devoured knowledge, much like a hungry teenage kid devours a pizza. Our sense of pride in his development, and his accomplishments at home and at school, never waned during all of those years. Nobody ever loved their son more than we loved your father, and you need to know that now, so that we can rest in peace.
I still do not know what caused your father to turn so aggressively against us, when he turned 17 years old. He was an advanced student and was already preparing for his college education, and we continued to affirm his goals, and together we celebrated all of the goodness that was unfolding in his life. Yet, he began to spurn our attention, and rejected all of our advice, and help, even though we could see that something was troubling him, and that he should consider talking through his issues with those that love him, so that he might avoid some of the same adult issues that I had faced, such as avoiding the alcoholism that poisoned much of our family tree. We encouraged him to avoid the temptation to drink, and also for him to socialize with those who heading the same direction as he was in life. But, he found himself a girlfriend, who had other ideas besides supporting a man who had ambition and a desire for higher education. His concentration on his studies eventually faded, to the point where he no longer was interested in pursuing his college degree.
We encouraged him to seek help from others, since he no longer wanted to look to us for his support. His girlfriend became his number one messenger for his guidance and direction, and her message was quite contrary to all that we had tried to teach your father, and we expressed our concern several times. But your father’s mind was made up, and in an angry spell he totally rejected us, and struck out on his own, heading into the city to find his work. Of course his work ethic still stayed with him, which enabled him to climb to the heights of his profession. Yet, he was so bitter and angry with us for trying to help him that he rejected us for all time, with no opportunity for us to reconcile.
For you to be reading this note, your path must have brought to you some grief and suffering, and perhaps you even feel wronged and betrayed by your father. And, you have every right to feel that way. Yet, it is now up to you to manage your life. By now you must have learned how to prune away the unwelcome thorns from your minds’ eye, and you have pulled all of the useless weeds from your heart that try to choke out your sense of purpose, and the potential for peace, and love in your life. For if you have not done this most important gardening of the soul, then your life will reflect the chaos and misunderstanding that curses the lives of all who have chosen not to manage their own internal gardens. Your beauty is there for all to see, and for you to see, but the work of the gardener is never complete. There are always new seasons to prepare for, new buds to blossom into beautiful flowers, as well as the need for the removal of those painful thorns that stick us, and our loved ones, in their hearts if we have not managed our gardens like the master gardeners that our Creator made us to be.
Your grandmother and I lived in the country, besides the great forest, where we had our own little piece of heaven. Our cottage has sheltered and protected us for 50 years, and it was the place that we raised your father. Please stop by sometime and visit your grandmother there (I do not know where the others will bury me, but please insist that my beloved wife stay where she now is). Her headstone is the most wonderful rose-bush that we ever cared for. Though the rose-bush could not love us back like the son we once shared with our great Creator, it came to reflect the glory back to us, that our Creator gave to us in all of our beginnings.
Grandson, I do not know what the future holds for you. But I do know that our hearts hold your essence near and dear, for all eternity, as our hearts also hold our long-lost son. Please love your father, and show to him the fruits of the spirit that our great Creator gave to you, in the beginning, before this world of pain and suffering arose. I know that the future will bring wholeness to you, if you can make the journey back to your grandfather’s and grandmother’s home. Our hearts have always been open, and waiting for you, and your father.
If your heart leads you to our home, with patience, you will find your own unique buried treasure, a treasure so precious, so tender, so loving, that your whole being will feel like a joyous explosion has levelled all of your past heartache and fear. If you find your treasure, your will find our blessing, and this will provide for you in all ways for all of your time to come.
Life does not always deliver beautiful flowers to our doorsteps, my grandson, but with loving attention and care, we can help each other to blossom from within and reveal the beauty that our Creator imbued us with in the beginning. By ourselves, in isolation, we are doomed to a life devoid of hope, and of love, so stay in touch with your people, for you will help each other stay whole.
Finally remember that all that you give to your life, you give to yourself, as well. All that you receive from life, you also receive for all of humanity. No matter how great your vision, or how limited it might become, all that you will ever see, unto Eternity, is yourself. How will you see yourself today, my beloved grandson?
Blessed be you, who have finally read this message. More blessed be the world, when you finally understand it.
Love,
Brian, your grandfather
Gary was absolutely blown away from his reading of the letter. The constant tension around his chest, and near his heart, that he had felt all of his life had begun to loosen, and he was confused by the change in his feelings as the pain in his heart started to give way to something so precious, so powerful, and so healing, that he could no longer stand up by himself. As Gary began to collapse, the manager grabbed Gary and attempted to hold him up, but Gary, in a rare moment lacking self-consciousness, wrapped his arms around the manager to first stabilize himself, and then to give the man the first hug he had ever given another human being.
“Kind sir, please prepare my grandfather for transport back to his home, where I plan to bury him next to his wife”, Gary requested, though he had no idea how he would ever afford to deliver on his intention. He grabbed the $22 that the manager had given him, and added the $16 that he still had, and asked the manager if he could put this money down on delivery fees to have his grandfather transported back to his home.
The manager thought for a moment, and then remembered an old hearse that he had mothballed in a warehouse close by, and he ordered his assistant to retrieve it, and make it ready for transporting the grandfather’s body.
“You may keep this hearse as long as you need it, Gary. Just make sure that you keep in touch, and let me know how everything works out for you”.
Gary was blown away by the generosity of the manager, and as graciously as he could, he thanked the man, and when the hearse was ready, helped transport his grandfather’s body out to the hearse. Brian’s body was carefully placed in the back, and with the copy of his grandfather’s deed, he sought the homeland for which his grandfather wanted to be buried.
Arriving at his grandparents’ property, he was stunned by its beauty, and its placement in relationship to the forests, meadows, and nearby streams and mountains. A sense of gratitude for life, and a sense of awe for his new surroundings, came to replace his desire for alcohol and drugs. He eagerly walked around the property, admiring all of the wonderful landscaping that dominated his grandparents property, though everywhere he looked, there was signs of neglect, with the property needing major work just to get it looking organized again. He walked into the cottage, which had a welcoming feel for some reason, and he was immediately struck by another feeling, a feeling that he had finally found his true home, and his real family, even though they were now dead. He walked from room to room, admiring his grandmother’s artwork, and all of the early family photographs showing his father happily engaged in activities with his grandfather. Walls were filled with articles from the local paper about his own father and his myriad accomplishments, and shelves were still filled with his father’s trophies from his high school sports participation.
“Well, if I am to live here, I had better either learn how to forgive my father, or I am going to have to throw all of these memories away,” he thought to himself. Forgiveness was an unknown concept up to now, best left for those who really could give and receive it.
Walking outside, and around the cottage just around the front door, Gary spotted his grandmother’s grave mound, and its most wondrous headstone, a perfectly manicured rose-bush, filled with blossoming roses. Though tears began filling his eyes, he began to feel such an overwhelming appreciation for his grandmother, that he had to get down on his knees before her grave, and from his heart he spoke of his regret at having never met her, or his grandfather. He also began to realize that there was much to be done around making some changes in his life, and making some amends to all whom he had harmed while on his darkened path.
“But, first things first”, he thought. His grandfather’s body needed to be buried, and though he did not like hard work, having never held a shovel in his life, he sought one from the shed, and walked back to the grandmothers’ gravesite.
He thought of all of the work that lie ahead, and he felt overwhelmed by the prospect of caring for this piece of property, as he had no money, or experience, in managing a country home with a yard. How could he ever afford to pay for the taxes or the upkeep, let alone feed and clothe himself? His city life had made him quite ignorant as to the ways of nature, and of caring for plants. His city life had also made him quite ignorant of the ways of caring for his own self and his soul, though he now suspected that he was more in control of this than he had previously realized.
Walking to the unruly rose-bush besides his grandmothers’ grave, he began to lose hope again, and he felt powerless, and foolish forever thinking that he belonged here. Yet, his grandfather’s letter had left a measure of hope in his heart, so he committed to finishing the business of the day, which was to bury his grandfather, and then he would have to figure out what to do next, including, perhaps, finishing the business of ending his own life. Perhaps he should dig two graves?
He started shoveling the dirt that was behind the chaos that now was the second rose-bush. He pushed the shovel into the ground, and though the shovel felt uncomfortable in his hands, he quickly learned how to more efficiently press the shovel into the earth, for maximum load movement. The strain on his back was quite unfamiliar, yet he grew to appreciate the movement that he was making, and the results began to show. As the hole stretched closer and closer to the wayward thorny branches of the bush, he noted that the ground was softer, and the dirt seemed to fly right out of the shovel with little effort! But then, he struck something that appeared to be out-of-place, a soft spot among the hardened soil. Curious, he bent down, and brushed away the dirt from some flat, unrecognizable surface.
“Why, what is this?” he thought, as he grabbed a box from the ground. Opening it, he found a deed to the cottage and property, a checking account book, and many thousands of dollars in stray cash.
It was then that he remembered his grandfather’s note, and the promise of finding buried treasure, should he find his way to his grandparent’s home. He thought that his grandfather had a more poetic intent than just this cold, hard cash, and time would prove that to be true. Yet, in the interim to finding the real truth of his grandfather’s message, he found a concrete way to stay connected with his new home, and he felt supported, for the first time in his life, by Life itself.
Several months passed, and Gary became devoted to his grandparents land. He worked hard each day into the evening, cleaning and upgrading the home, and all of the surrounding property to the best that he could. He had to learn as he went, as his life training was so limited, that he had no background. On his free time, he went to the bookstores, and purchased all of the books he could find about growing flowers, and pruning rose bushes. He wanted to be an expert from the beginning, but as life would have it, he had a lot to learn, and made many mistakes in attempting to recover his grandparents’ sacred rose garden. But he was not deterred, and he saved his best effort the bush that served as his grandfathers’ headstone. With all of the love, care, and concern that he could muster, he pruned each branch as if it was his own child, to carefully reveal the inner buds of beauty that the bush had tried to reveal to the world, but in the past was stymied by the proliferation of all of its thorny branches.
Gary felt whole for the first time in his life, and he wanted to share it with somebody. He no longer felt the need to remain isolated, as he felt, for the first time in his life, a sense of purpose, and he had a peace of mind that he never believed possible for himself. Who would possibly be interested in sharing these gifts with him??
His amends letter had reached his wife, and his son, late that summer. His wife had not heard from Gary for over 8 months, and she could hardly believe the message that she was reading. But, her heart mysteriously began to break open, and she felt compelled to take her son, and drive to the cottage on the outskirts of the county, and visit with her estranged husband.
Gary waited beside the mailbox, awaiting for his wife and son to arrive. He was feeling some apprehension, though he knew that this was the path of his heart, and that there was no going back. He was prepared to make amends for all of the harm he had caused, through his own ignorance, and his own brokenness and unhealed life.
His wife and his son were blown away by the change they witnessed in Gary.
”It must be some sort of miracle!”, his wife thought, that Gary could undergo such a profound change of mind, and of heart, and be the person that stood before them now.
“What has happened to you Gary, you are so changed, you now appear to be so happy! And, the hairs on my arms, and on the back of my neck, start to tingle whenever you speak to me! What happened?”
“Well, I can hardly believe that this could be happening to me, but I think that I am having an experience with God!”
Gary then proceeded to tell his story, and though he never believed in God, nor would his old mind ever let him, he felt like he had been touched by the very hand of the Creator, and he felt the inner assurance that his search for truth had found unexpected results.
Their relationship began again, with a new emphasis on love, understanding, and change. His wife and son moved in with him, and together they finished rebuilding their grandparents’ piece of paradise. Several years later, the rose garden, having been returned to its original stature, attracted people from far and wide, and once again their property became a sustaining operation, and they had no further issues with successfully managing the property.
Their family continued to thrive, and they continued the sometimes difficult process of fine tuning their own minds and hearts, while helping their other family members tune themselves to the higher vibrations, as well. Communication no longer was threatening to Gary, though sometimes he still struggled with old thoughts from the past that suggested that he was not being heard. Because he was open about his issues, his wife was able to give loving guidance whenever his behavior suggested that he felt that he was not being heard, even when he really was. His wounds, or his thorns, were always going to be with him, but his wife was there to help him trim back the thorns, whenever they threatened to scratch.
He daily stopped by his grandparents’ grave, and gave his respect, and his love, to both their gravesites, and to the rose bushes that adorned their resting place. Yes, there was order in his life, and in the universe as a whole, and others outside of the family came to recognize his growth and evolution.
Gary grew to become respected, and honored in his community, even though he felt like he had nothing to do with it, giving all credit to the change that his grandfather stimulated within him.
Word of his life and his new energy reached far and wide, and finally fell upon the once deaf ears of his long abandoned father, who was in failing health. His mother had died two years previous, and now his father was in need of extra support in his old age, and he was moved to a nursing home, where he received adequate care, though his heart was unhealed, and he continued to ache for all of the love that he had lost in his life. He was inconsolable, and the medical staff felt helpless as to how to help him. A member of the staff, not really knowing of the estrangement of the father and son, heard of the great life that the son was leading, and wondered why there was no connection. She proceeded to contact Gary, who she had read about in the county newspaper, to see if he could help in any way to give his father a higher quality of life in his final days.
“Whoa, I could never give that man what he needs!” thought Gary, and his own spirits started to sink, as he contemplated his own unwillingness to help, his almost indifference to the plight of his father.
But something clashed inside of his heart. His life was now devoted to his family, and to his land, and to providing beauty and a new sense of appreciation for the wonders of creation for all who visited his family’s land.
“Yet, does not this man also deserve the same opportunity to be blessed by the gifts that my grandfather gave to me? And, was not this property his own home over fifty years ago?”
Gary consulted with his wife and son, and they discussed at length the potential risks, and rewards, of extending their hearts and lives to the man who so frequently and rudely damaged Gary’s sense of self- esteem when he was young. Gary knew that, in the spirit of fairness, and in a tribute to his new sense of spiritual integrity, he now felt compelled to extend the hand of love to his father, in his final stretch of days. His father arrived by ambulance several days later, and the family prepared the home for their newest family addition, devoting the family room to Gary’s father’s care. Gary’s father was severely compromised mentally, having lost his short-term memory. But his father also remembered many of the good times that father and son had shared together. so they focused on the good times, while Gary continued to trim his own internal thorns back, that tried to prevent love’s vision from appearing. Daily, Gary would wheel his father out into their beautiful garden, where his father delighted, and felt somehow completed, and made whole, by being there. Eventually Gary left his father in front of the two prized rose bushes nearest the house, not telling him that his own parents’ bodies were buried, with the bushes as their headstones.
Gary’s father always requested to be left at those bushes, and Gary was more than happy to wait by his wheelchair’s side, as his father gazed, with pure love in his own heart, at the treasured shrubs. And, as his own father neared his death, Gary felt, for the first time in his life, a complete and total unconditional love for the man who was now appearing as his father, knowing inside, with the complete authority of the spirit that resided within him, that his father was so much more than the role that he played in life. Gary finally recognized that the Creator had appeared as his father, and for the first time in his life, he felt grateful for his father’s life.
On the final day of his father’s life, Gary wheeled him outside, to one more time view the prized rose bushes. Gary told his father that his parents were buried there, and that they had always saved a place in their hearts, and on their property, for their once estranged son.
Gary’s father looked up into Gary’s eyes, and, with his own eyes filled with tears they exchanged loving looks, and acknowledged the perfection of love that all of them now shared together.
Gary’s father final wish was to be buried beside his father, and when the end arrived, he was lovingly placed in his own resting place, beside the father, and mother, who had awaited his return all of this time.
The third rose-bush, because of the extra love and attention paid to it, became a most beautiful creation, and truly belonged alongside the other two prized bushes. The family felt honored, and blessed, and vowed to also be buried beside their now beloved father, and grandparents. The cycle of life, and of love, had once again become fulfilled. Healing was the greatest gift of all, returning to everyone the joy of sharing and togetherness, and they continued to be blessed, and to bless others, with the all of the gifts of the spirit that were to follow.
We are all master gardeners, and we are all rose bushes. While we help trim the thorns from those we love, we must also be willing to have our own thorns trimmed back. This is the essence of cultivating the spirit of creation.
Thank you to my loving wife, Sharon White for her constant encouragement and support, as I continue to heal from my original brokenness, which tries to tell me that my voice will never be heard. I have been heard, and in that hearing, I am healed.
“My peace I leave with you, not as the world giveth, give I unto you”. Jesus of Nazereth
